


Look, Gordon! A Road Trip!

by snowtagonist



Category: Half Life VR But The AI Is Self Aware
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon, Road Trips, Trans Character, and by that I mean all of them, bubby and coomer are married and do crimes, cannot believe no one wrote a road trip fic before me, canon typical benreyisms, eventually, fuck you this fic is set in canada because i do what i want, gordon has adhd, none of them are neurotypical actually, slowburn to the MAX babey, tommy is the real mvp of this fuckin fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:15:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 24,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25114510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowtagonist/pseuds/snowtagonist
Summary: As it turns out, putting the science team in a car together for an extended period of time is a recipe for complete and utter disaster. They make it worth the hassle, in their own way.(aka: the fic where gordon loves his friends and also really, really wants out of this fucking minivan.)
Relationships: Benrey/Gordon Freeman, Benrey/Tommy Coolatta/Gordon Freeman, Bubby/Dr. Coomer (Half-Life), Tommy Coolatta/Gordon Freeman
Comments: 217
Kudos: 783





	1. ring ring motherfucker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gordon freeman gets a phone call and makes a questionable decision.

If he’s being honest with himself, getting a phone call is the most interesting thing that’s happened to Gordon in months.

And if he’s honest about  _ that _ little fact that makes him realize how goddamn bored he’s been for weeks on end, it’s… a little hard to top the absolute fuckfest of violence, nonsensical ramblings and video game logic that was Black Mesa. All the shit that went down at the end still makes his head spin. By comparison, living in a cozy apartment near the downtown of Vancouver is- well, its bland as all hell, really. It’s  _ real  _ nice to not be, yknow, scared for his goddamn life all the time, but a guy gets used to constant bizarre…. stimuli? Stimuluses? Whatever. But you get used to  _ that  _ and the reality of domestic life as a single dad starts to weigh on you a little.

Anyway- the phone call. It’s around four in the afternoon, he thinks, (which he only knows because for whatever reason, four pm is the hour of the day where he most wants to drive a truck into a wall just to not be so fucking  _ bored _ ) and his phone goes off, an upbeat little techno ditty signalling that the caller is Tommy. He’s got custom ringtones for the science team, of course- Tommy and Coomer’s being songs they happened to like, and Bubby’s being a horribly compressed sound file of his own voice screaming at Gordon to pick up that he refuses to let him change- and he smiles a little at the sound. Tommy’s good at keeping in touch, way better than him for sure. He’s a good guy, clever and with a solid head on his shoulders for all the messy emotional stuff Gordon’s never been great with. They’d all be fucked without him, really. Gordon might not even be alive.

He shakes his head, scooping up the phone and dispelling those weird, semi-sentimental, semi-morbid thoughts that seem to have set up shop in his head recently, a small smile creeping onto his face despite himself. A short beep sounds as he picks up, plopping himself down on his couch with his arms crossed.   
  
“ _ Mr. Freeman? _ ” Tommy’s voice comes clearly through the phone, slightly tinny but still distinctly him.   
  
Gordon smiles with a nod, realizing a little too late that Tommy can’t actually  _ see  _ that, and scrambles hastily to reply.

“Yeah, bud. What’s up?” Nailed it. He only sounds a  _ tiny  _ bit unnecessarily panicked.

Tommy laughs, the sound almost melodic with the weird quality the phone call gives his voice. Gordon’s not sure if it's directed at him, or just one of those things Tommy does, and it dawns on him that he doesn’t really care either way. “ _ N-not much. I was just- I was just, uh, wondering something! _ ”

Oh, he sounds excited. This could either be really good, or very, very bad.

“...Yeah, sure- shoot. What’s the question, man? I’m listening.” He cocks an eyebrow, leaning into the side of the couch he’s nestled on with a slightly puzzled expression.

“ _...Do you maybe wanna come on, uh, come on a road trip? With me and, uh, the others? _ ”   
  


Gordon blinks, his grip on his phone almost slipping for a second before it tightens again, his hand fumbling on the case as his brain struggles to catch up. It’s such a simple question, really, but it raises a  _ stupid  _ amount of questions in his equally as stupid brain. Like- why is Tommy asking him that? Why  _ now _ ? Where would they even go, whose car would they take- Gordon might have a license but he doesn’t own a car, public transit is more than sufficient. Also he fucking hates driving, but that's another story. Something about being behind the wheel of a car makes him  _ way  _ too aware of shit he’d rather not be thinking about when he’s just trying to get to Little Caesars, thank you very much. He’s on the road for shitty pizza and a salad he’s only going to eat the croutons out of, not a goddamn existential crisis about the effects he unknowingly has on the lives of others and the perpetual looming threat of mortality.

Oh fuck, Tommy. He almost forgot he was talking to another person- a person that just asked him a  _ question _ , no less. Shit, okay Gordon, what are you gonna tell him? Think this through.

“No.”

His traitorous mouth answers before he can and Gordon wants to scream in frustration, searching for the right words to say more than just fucking  _ no _ to a good faith question about a road trip. God, where are his manners sometimes? His dumbass tongue never listens to his brain, not when it counts.

“I-I mean-” he stammers, trying to find the footing he swept out from under himself so expertly, “- I have a  _ kid _ , dude, I can’t just… up and leave like that! Joshies mom isn’t gonna be around for a while, she’s off doing some business thing in Nebraska or something. Gotta take care of the little guy, y'know?”

That… was a way more coherent answer than he was expecting from himself, if he’s being entirely honest. He runs his mouth like there's no tomorrow but usually it’s just empty words when he doesn’t know where to go. Besides, the more he thinks about it, the more that answer actually makes sense. Boring as it is, he’s got responsibilities here. He has a  _ son _ , a son he loves more than anything, and that isn’t something he can just shirk to go hang out with his batshit insane friends in a car he isn’t even sure any of them own.

Tommy’s voice jolts him out of that train of thought, peppy as ever and edged with just a hint of… smugness? No, not quite. Just self satisfaction. “ _ Oh, don’t worry Mr. Freeman! I thought of that! _ ”

Aaand he’s off balance again. God, his friends are good at knocking him flat on his ass with confusion.

“Uh… you did?”   
  


“ _ Yeah! _ ” Tommy exclaims, and Gordon can practically hear him beaming through the phone. “ _ Darnold's a- a good babysitter- he could take care of Joshua for you while we’re gone! And then you, um, and then you can come with- with us! _ ”

“That’s… huh. Wait, how d’you know Darnold’s a good babysitter?”

“ _ Oh, um- you know how we’ve- how we’ve all had to pick up some extra jobs since we c-can’t, uh, work at Black Mesa anymore? _ ” Gordon nods again before remembering that shit, phone calls still aren’t a visual medium, and making a quiet affirmative noise in the back of his throat. “ _ Well- Darnold's been, um, been w-working as a babysitter in the- the neighborhood he’s in now! He’s good at it- hasn’t gotten one bad review yet! _ ”

That’s a little more convincing than he’d like to admit. He loves his kid to death, really, little Joshie is the best thing that’s ever happened to him, but he misses his friends- and he’s so goddamn  _ bored  _ that it’s suffocating him. He might be antsy about trusting the science team sometimes, but Darnold is one of the more capable members of the bunch next to Tommy- after all, he  _ did  _ fix Gordon's arm in the first place and played no small part in building the prosthetic he’s been using since abandoning the minigun arm. Turns out being part violent heavy machinery isn’t the greatest thing for day to day life with a toddler running around. Or day to day life in general. There’s no aliens to shoot in an apartment complex- not if you’re lucky.

“...Maybe.” He mumbles, voice still hesitant at its core. “Just… when were you thinking we’d go? And, uh, for how long? Cause Darnold’s a great guy, Tommy, but I’m not leaving my kid with him for longer than a month.”   
  
Tommy hums into the receiver, clearly thinking. “ _ We’d probably head out, uh, head out next week? Not for too long- maybe two weeks or so. _ ” He pauses, the soft white noise from his end still pouring through the speaker before his voice came again, quieter this time. “ _ I was just… I was just thinking it’d be, uh, really nice to get everyone b-back together for a while. _ ”

If Tommy’s not the best guy Gordon knows, he’ll eat his… shit, what outlandish thing could he eat? Doesn’t matter- he won’t have to do that, because Tommy  _ is  _ the best guy he knows and probably always will be. He feels himself cave, smiling despite himself and shuffling some of the cushions next to him on the couch around just to do something with his hands.

“Fuck it- I’ll bite. Have you, uh, got a car?”

“ _ Yeah- I, uh, I wouldn’t ask you on a road trip if I didn’t, Mr. Freeman! _ ” He says it like it’s obvious. Like there’s a single goddamn thing that’s obvious with the science team. “ _ It’ll be big enough for- for all of us! _ ”

Gordon runs a hand through his hair, that stupid smile still stuck on his face. “Got it all figured out, huh? So- I guess we’d be starting from your place, yeah? I can get myself a taxi down there next week or something.”

Tommy lets out an excited little noise, and Gordon swears he can hear a soft flapping sound through the phone- and god, if it isn’t nice to know he’s made his friend that happy by just saying yes to a silly little thing like this. “ _ That’s- oh, that’s great Mr. Freeman! Just- just really stellar! _ ” He laughs, tone no less peppy with the echoing quality of the call. “ _ I’ll get- I’ll get Darnold to come up to, um, to your place in a few days! So he can- so you can show him around, and, and stuff! _ ”

“...Sounds good, man.” Gordon nods deliberately, tucking a hand into his pocket as he adjusts himself on the couch, trying not to let his own excitement bleed into his tone more than he can help. “So, uh… see you guys in a week?”

“ _ In a week! _ ” Tommy echoes, before the call ends, leaving Gordon with a stupid grin on his face and a single thought spinning in his head.

What the  _ fuck  _ did he just get himself into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE WE GO BABEY ive never written hlvrai before so hopefully yall like it! it baffles me that no one's written a road trip fic yet (that ive seen) and im here to fill that void with my garbage
> 
> i dont really have a posting schedule, chapters come out when they come out bro but i'll try to be at least kinda consistent! this is the first thing ive published in nearly a year god bless
> 
> im chaotic-solutions on tumblr come yell at me


	2. real minivan hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hanging out with your pals is a great cool until the bitchass security guard shows up

The first thing that happens when he gets himself to Tommy’s weird little bungalow on the outskirts of town is, well- Gordon barely notices what’s going on until he’s an extra foot in the air and it feels like all of his ribs are about to snap.

“N-nice to see you too, Dr. Coomer-” He wheezes, squirming in the vice grip the older man has around his torso, desperately struggling to breathe before he’s unceremoniously dropped back onto the sidewalk. He gasps, doubling over as he huffs before glancing back up to meet a warm, smiling face that does not seem to notice that he nearly killed Gordon five seconds ago. But hey, that’s just Coomer, and the familiarity of how fucking weird he is makes him grin.

“Hello, Gordon!” Coomer exclaims, clapping his hands together excitedly. Shit, is he wearing a hawaiian shirt? The guy really is a grandpa. “I see you have also agreed to accompany our dear friend Tommy on this ‘Road Trip’!”

Gordon snorts as he finally catches his breath, stretching back out to his full height. “Yeah- couldn’t exactly let you guys go and wreak havoc, could I?”

“You’d  _ better _ not be a buzzkill, Gordon!” Bubby shouts from the porch eight feet away, wearing ridiculous heart shaped sunglasses and… oh my god, he and Coomer have matching shirts. They’ve never been more obnoxious.

Shaking his head with a snicker, Gordon doesn’t even bother to reply. Bubby yelling at him for dumb shit like this is a strange kind of normalcy he’s happy to sink back into- he just hopes it doesnt involve quite so much murder this time. “Where’s Tommy?” He yells back with his hands cupped around his mouth. Bubby just shrugs with a noncommittal noise, fidgeting with the lab coat tied messily around his waist and glances back at the door behind him.

“I do believe Tommy is currently inside of his house!” Coomer supplies, raising one finger as though pointing out something mindboggling. “It would be rude of us to enter his home unannounced. I think that we should stay out here and, ah, catch up!”

Weirdly enough, Gordon agrees. Tommy’s real good with communication- calls him once a week without fail, even though he’s shit at returning the favour- but the rest of them? Not so much. Honestly, he’s pretty sure Coomer has no idea how his phone works and just carries it around like a trinket of some kind, and Bubby would rather die than visibly give a shit about anyone- and yes, that includes bothering to keep in touch. Gordon… well, Gordon’s got enough anxiety to fuel a country some days, and there’s a not insignificant part of that anxiety that pertains to people and all of the ways he can fuck up around them. He’d probably be a hermit if he didn’t get lonely so easily. Thank fucking god for Tommy Coolatta.

Goddamnit, he’s doing the  _ thing  _ again. The thing where he gets so wrapped up in his inner monologue that he forgets to actually say real words out loud- and yep, Bubby’s looking at him funny. He missed the guy, but he didn’t entirely miss how scathing a  _ look  _ from him could be.

“Right, right- you guys can start up conversations too, y’know.” He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck and pushing his long, half brushed hair out of the way. “So, um… how’ve things been?”

Coomer opens his mouth to say something that will undoubtedly be both horribly mundane and completely off the wall in equal measure- but almost as if to save them all from the horrors of poorly executed small talk, Tommy comes barrelling out the door, a wide smile on his face with his arms just as wide open. Gordon will just never stop being thankful for this guy, apparently. He’s a lifesaver in so many goddamn ways.

“Mr. Freeman!” He exclaims, almost exactly as Gordon half yells “Tommy!” because volume regulation has  _ never  _ been his strong suit. Vocal quirks aside, he finds himself swept into another hug- this one not nearly as rib bruising as Coomers. Tommy’s taller than him by quite a bit, and Gordons not a small guy, so it’s a little weird to get used to.  _ Still nice though,  _ he thinks a little nonsensically before pulling back, patting Tommy on the shoulder. 

“Heya, dude.” He smiles as Tommy lets go of him and Bubby sticks out his tongue in the background, walking over to Coomer to loop an arm around his shoulder and whisper something in the other man’s ear that Gordon promptly decides he does not care about and ignores. “So, uh. Where’s the car? And- ah shit. Who’s driving? Do any of you have a license?”

Well, shit. That little question triggers a mess of talking, the only information he can gather from it being Bubby’s angry insistence that “We all have  _ passports, _ Gordon, why wouldn’t we have drivers licenses?” He throws his hands up in front of his chest defensively, taking half a step backwards as if to admit defeat.

“Geez- it was a question, guys, that’s all! Just… didn’t know if driving was, uh, a concern where you’re from.”

“All of us are perfectly capable of driving, Gordon!” Coomer beams, one of his hands resting over Bubby’s, the other man’s arm still slung over his shoulders. “I once drove a forklift through an entire wing of Black Mesa!”

Gordon blinks, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. “That, uh- that doesn’t sound great?”   
  
“Oh no, it wasn’t! I haven’t been allowed behind the wheel of a moving vehicle since!”   
  
Bubby cackles from next to him, a hand shoved in his pocket as the sun glints off his sunglasses. Those things  _ cannot  _ be prescription. Can he even see? “1987 was a good year.” he says nonetheless, sharp teeth bared in a gleeful expression. “Wasn’t that also the year we set off half the explosives in storage by ‘accident’ and blamed it on some poor schmuck from Research and Development?” 

The heavy air quotes around “accident” do little for Gordon’s steadily climbing blood pressure.

Before Gordon can work himself into  _ too  _ much of a panic about Coomer’s driving skills and how bad everyone else’s might be, Tommy cuts in. “U-um! We should, we should all go look at the car and stuff- Mr. Freeman still needs to put his stuff in the back, right?”

Gordon has said it before, he’ll say it again, and he’ll keep saying it until the day he dies.  _ Thank the fucking heavens for Tommy Coolatta. _

“Yeah- yeah, that sounds good, buddy.” He flashes Tommy a smile that he hopes says  _ THANK YOU  _ as loud as he’s thinking it, picking up his long forgotten suitcase from the curb. “Lead the way?”

Tommy doesn’t say anything, just nods as he rushes off towards a… jesus  _ fuck _ that is a gaudy minivan. The thing is a deep shade of pearlescent teal, the hubcaps painted a near neon pink that’s stained a more reasonable shade by the dusting of grime on top. A lot of the details have to be custom- they’re all that same shade of terrible pink, save for some splatter details on the sides that are goldenrod yellow, standing out starkly from the rest of the paint job. Walking closer, Gordon can see a strange spiderweb decal on the back window, spanning out from the top left corner down over a large section of the glass. He pops the back open, biting his tongue because god  _ damnit  _ he is not going to be a dick about his friends car- even if it’s the ugliest one he’s ever seen.

“I-It’s not my car.” Tommy spits out in a rush, seeming almost embarrassed. “It’s my dad’s.”

Oh, nevermind then. Gordon is going to be a dick about this ugly fucking car.

“Your dad has shit taste, dude.” He says matter of factly, shoving his full-to-bursting suitcase into the back of the minivan. “Like- god,  _ none  _ of these colours match. At all.”

Tommy still looks sheepish, scratching the back of his neck as Bubby shouts his once in a blue moon agreement with Gordon from a few feet away. “Yeah, hes- he’s, um, not super familiar with… colour theory, I guess? Or cars. O-or, uh, what anything is supposed to look like.” 

“Is that why he’s so fucking creepy?” Bubby replies, walking closer with his hands in his pockets as Tommy visibly tries to keep down a laugh at his father's expense. “Hell, he looks like a robot tried to produce a human face. Fucking uncanny is what he is.”

Tommy, bless his soul, refuses to agree out loud even if he  _ so  _ obviously wants to. It’s honestly kind of endearing, Gordon thinks, peering back into the pile of suitcases. There’s his own up front, a bright yellow duffel bag that couldn’t belong to anyone but Tommy behind that, a large green suitcase helpfully labelled “COOMER” with a huge laminated tag taped to the front, and a smaller bag sitting right next to it with a similar label that might have said “BUBBY” once, but something or other happened and all the ink but the B seems to have run, leaving it unreadable. And just behind all of that, there’s… huh. Another bag?   
  


Gordon turns back to the group, half interrupting whatever they’d been saying about Mr. Coolatta, one eyebrow raised. “Hey, who brought two bags? I don’t recognize that blue duffel in the back.”

The question seems to blindside Bubby and Coomer, blank expressions on both their faces. “I’m not sure what you mean, Gordon!” The latter exclaims, head cocked to the side.

Tommy, though, seems on edge all of a sudden. He shifts his weight from foot to foot the way he always seems to when there’s something he’s dancing around but can’t quite make himself say for one reason or another, and a sinking feeling starts to take hold of Gordon. He inhales sharply to steady himself, expression darkening slightly as he looks up at Tommy. 

“U-um, Mr. Freeman-” Tommy starts, wringing his hands together in front of his chest before the door to his house bangs open, instantly drawing Gordon’s attention as he snaps his head to see the source of the noise-

And his face falls.

“oh shit.” Benrey mumbles from the porch, looking tired and aloof and decidedly  _ not dead. _ “bad time?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> blue bitch
> 
> anyway theres chapter 2 i am so tired when im posting this once again i am chaotic-solutions on tumblr and welcome to jackass


	3. this is not an epic gamer moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> benrey's here! gordon has some less than positive thoughts on that.

So. Benrey.

Gordon is half of the mind to grab his suitcase and walk right the fuck back home, Tommy and this stupid road trip be damned, because he can’t take another second of that  _ asshole  _ who shouldn’t even be  _ alive _ looking at him like that. Like he’s scared or some shit, like he’s  _ ever  _ given a shit about any of them, like- okay, Gordon can’t entirely tell what Benrey's looking at him like, but he’s mad, okay? 

No matter  _ what  _ kind of emotion Benrey’s trying to get across, Gordon can still feel his eyes boring into him and it almost itches. He doesn’t like being seen like that. Especially not by fucking  _ Benrey _ .

He knows Tommy is standing beside him, knows Bubby and Coomer are only a few feet off, but he feels stranded, isolated with only the harsh gaze of the dickhead security guard who tried to  _ kill  _ him- tried to kill his  _ family _ \- tearing him to shreds, and it burns hotter than the goddamn sun.

He squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head to get those stupid dark eyes out of his head, before whirling on his heel to face Tommy, eyebrows knit together with an equal mix of anger, fear, and confusion. “What the  _ fuck- _ ” he hisses, “-is  _ Benrey  _ doing here?”

“i’m like, uhhh, his roommate.” The asshole in question supplies distantly, picking at his nails absently, all traces of that terrifying intensity gone. “live on his couch or whatever. sweet deal. i get all his flat soda’n shit.”

“I. Wasn’t. Talking. To you.” Gordon spits, whipping his head back to stare what he hopes are daggers in the general direction of the porch.

“y’wanted to know why i’m here, bro.” He shrugs, sliding his hands into the pockets of his horribly oversized hoodie. “i’m tommy boys roommate. your future carmate. we’re goin’ on a rad fucking journey across canada land or whatever.” Benrey pauses, glancing off to the side. “i’m just comin’ cause tommy asked.”

That- okay, loathe as he is to concede to fucking  _ anything  _ that comes out of Benrey’s mouth, that makes sense. You just… cannot say no to Tommy. You can’t. You can try, but it won’t work, and before you know it you’ll get roped into whatever he wanted even harder than you initially thought- which is exactly why he’s here right now, come to think of it, and he mentally kicks himself for not trying harder to just  _ not fucking come _ . 

He’s not even looking at Benrey anymore, really. Sure, that’s where his eyes are, but he’s long since stopped registering that there’s a person in his line of sight, his brain spiralling off somewhere else entirely as he feels his hands unconsciously ball into fists, the metal of his prosthetic making a distant scraping noise that he almost has the dignity to feel bad about. He’s just- he’s so fucking  _ mad _ \- and there’s a whole extra cocktail of emotions under that anger that he won’t be addressing today, thank you very much, why experience complex reactions when you can just funnel everything into being pissed the hell off? It feels like his head’s spinning, messy thoughts that barely articulate into words spiralling around him like there’s no tomorrow, leaving him in a haze of blind panic that he just has to keep pretending is rage and-

Hey, when did he get in the back of the minivan?

Gordon blinks, jolting in his seat as he jerks his head back and forth, desperately trying to orient himself again. Okay- okay. He’s in the back of Tommy’s car, Coomer is climbing into the seat in front of him. It smells… vaguely like orange- not real oranges, like a stale candy of some kind- and the seats are thankfully not shitty faux leather. He’s wearing  _ shorts _ , for fucks sake, and it’s hot out. At least he doesn’t have to worry about getting stuck to the spot he’ll be sitting in for hours on end.

Up front, he can see Tommy sliding himself into the driver's seat. At his height, it looks almost uncomfortable for him to duck in the door. Yikes. He would  _ not  _ want to be six foot five- that’s a burden the guy has to shoulder on his own. Speaking of Tommy, though, there’s a strange look on his face as he stares back at Gordon for a moment, the corners of his lips turned down in an apologetic grimace as he mouths a small ‘ _ I’m sorry _ ’ from the very front, before slotting himself down behind the wheel and turning his back on the rest of the van.

Gordon loves him, really he does, but  _ christ  _ he's about to burst a blood vessel and Tommy Coolatta will be part of the cause.

So Benrey is alive. Benrey is alive and Tommy fucking  _ knew _ , because apparently Benrey’s just been… living with him. Like nothing happened. Like that asshole didn’t break half the game and get Gordon’s arm chopped off and try to kill them all over and over- hell, what's to say he’s not gonna pull that shit again? And if Tommy knows, that probably means that Bubby and Coomer know too, and he’s more than a little miffed about being left out of the loop.  _ Again _ . About something this goddamn important, no less.

...Okay, maybe that’s not entirely fair. He knows he gets worked up about this stuff and maybe the others just didn’t want to set him off or something- which is sweet in theory but in practice, it just kinda makes him feel slighted. Like they don’t trust him or some other dumb bullshit his brain feels like making him insecure about for the millionth time. It… stings a little, if he’s being honest.

His train of thought is knocked sixty miles off course like it’s been hit with a speeding car by Benrey  _ whining _ from the front seat like a fucking toddler while Bubby yells something at him about calling shotgun hours ago and Tommy slams his head into the steering wheel- which sets off the horn, giving Bubby just the right opportunity to wrench Benrey out of his seat and take his place triumphantly, cackling as the… well, he’s an  _ ex _ security guard now, slinks around to the back, sitting sullenly down next to Coomer with his arms folded and his face half buried in his hoodie.

Which also happens to mean he’s only a row away from Gordon.

This is gonna be a long fucking trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I PROMISE THEY'LL WORK SHIT OUT. I PROMISE. gordon's just got a lot of hangups and benrey doesnt know how to be straightforward to save his life.
> 
> anyway heres chapter 3!! i hope i did things justice i worry about posting more angsty stuff bc i dont wanna be out of character? but i like writing gordon so i think this came out ok
> 
> as always im chaotic-solutions on tumblr! hope u liked the chapter :3


	4. back seat shenanigans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gordon is still on the verge of an aneurysm. benrey is not enjoying himself either.

How long have they been driving for? Four hours? Five?   
  


A quick glance at his watch tells him that no, it’s been thirty minutes  _ tops _ since Tommy maneuvered the car out of his driveway and onto the road.

Gordon leans his head back against his seat, staring nearly straight up at where a sunroof might be on a newer model of van. He wonders absently how long Mr. Coolatta’s actually owned this thing for. Tommy doesn’t seem to have any real nostalgia for it, and it looks strangely new for something so outdated. Fuck, with his limited view from the back, this could even have a manual transmission. Maybe not, but he wouldn’t put it past the guy. He has to wonder if Gman just… bought it so he seemed more human. Really, he shouldn’t bother. Tommy’s dad is about as convincing as… as a… shit. He doesn’t have any clever similes. 

He doesn’t have any clever  _ anything _ . The sheer absurdity of all of this is starting to make his head swim- and it doesn’t help that every time he looks down from the roof or up from his hands, the back of Benrey’s stupid fucking head is there. Gordon’s been doing the best he can not to glare at that ratty grey beanie with a gaze sharp enough to cut, but his best isn’t very good. It’s too bright in this car, and the very back seat leaves him with his legs tucked nearly to his chest- leg room was  _ clearly  _ not a consideration with whoever the hell designed this shit. 

Flat out, he does  _ not  _ want to be here. Bubby, Tommy and Coomer are one thing- one very stressful, very strange thing that he cares about very much- but adding three layers of Things He Didn’t Get Told About and a heaping handful of The Fucking Dude Who Has Quickly Become The Bane Of Gordon Freeman’s Existence is a  _ whole  _ ‘nother can of worms.

Scrunching up even further in the back seat, Gordon stares down at his hands as he picks absently at the skin around his nails. Shit, the red polish is really chipped. Maybe he’ll sit down and redo ‘em when they get to a hotel or something- he doesn’t like leaving the colour uneven. It just makes him want to pick everything off. His mind drifts as he stares, slipping out of his own head for long enough to hear Bubby singing near incoherently along to some glam rock number he’s never heard as Coomer bounces  _ way  _ too vigorously up and down in his seat. Like, shit- that is too aggressive. It might actually be dangerous. He thinks he can feel the car swaying.   
  
With a shake of his head, he leans forward, placing a hand loosely on the back of Dr. Coomers car seat with an awkward smile. “H-hey, buddy- don’t you think you’re goin’ at that a little hard?”   
  


“No!” Coomer exclaims, grin wide under his mustache as he keeps bouncing in place. He’s not even on beat. God.

Gordon cringes as the creaking sound of the seatbelt gives way to a soft, but uncomfortably present, tearing sound. He leans a little closer, expression slightly more stern.   
  
“Hey- hey, seriously. That doesn’t sound good- you can’t just go breaking Tommy’s car in the first hour, right? Trip’s barely started!” He laughs, not even really sure what’s funny about that sentence. His own seatbelt is cutting into his chest as he tries to make eye contact with Coomer- and Bubby is  _ still  _ singing. If you can call it that. It’s more like rhythmic screaming with the barest hint of a melody underneath.

Abruptly, Coomer stops bouncing. It’s startlingly quick, his limbs falling back into place as he folds his hands in his lap, still smiling- but he does look slightly less mischievous. Not  _ much  _ of a weight off of Gordon’s mind, but it’s something. God, he’ll take anything right now- he feels like his head might split in two.

“Yeah- yeah, cool. Thanks man.” He mumbles with a nod, maneuvering himself back into his own seat carefully. His arms feel like lead all of a sudden, heavier than they should be and weighing him down as he slumps back into his spot, backed by a very loud gasp from Tommy when a song he likes comes on and Bubby’s scream-singing fades out. The name of it is… he can’t remember. Tommy likes it- that’s all he knows, and that’s all that really matters.

Just before he manages to get fully situated in the very back again (knees crushed against the rest of him and all), Gordon manages a sidelong glance at Benrey. Not much, not for long- not even noticeable, he hopes- but he does  _ get  _ one. The expression on his face is… oddly familiar. That’s what he thinks as he hits the seat, anyway, turning the subtle look on the guys face around in his head a few times. 

_ Half lidded, almost squinting eyes, a tight curl to the mouth. Lips pressed thin, eyes down, hair in his face, shoulders hunched so badly it has to hurt- _

...Huh. No, familiar is the right word. He blinks, glancing down at his hands as his lips part slightly, a thought slowly dawning on him as the trees outside hurtle past. They’re almost out of the city now, but Gordon can’t be bothered to care. He recognizes the look he’s sure is still set on the other man’s face, shifting his gaze to that beanie barely containing a mop of black hair. It’s the same one that he’s probably been making for the past thirty to forty minutes. Maybe they don’t look quite the same, maybe they go about this shit differently- but that doesn’t change the underlying truth.

Benrey’s  _ just _ as uncomfortable as he is right now.

...What the fuck is he supposed to do with  _ that  _ information?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come on gordon and benrey you'll deal with your emotions when you want to
> 
> im chaotic-solutions on tumblr you know the drill come talk to me about these idiots in a car. or these idiots when they're not in a car. either way works bro


	5. fruit crimes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the gang stops at a fruit stand. things are startlingly normal.

Getting out of a car after too long spent with your legs folded at an uncomfortable angle is the best feeling in the  _ world _ , Gordon decides on the spot as he shakily clambers out of the car after Coomer. And if Benrey is right behind him as he does so, he is  _ not  _ going to think about it, thank you- the euphoria of giving his legs full range of motion is not something he’ll allow some asshole gamer to taint for him.

He brushes his hands down over his button-up, smiling vaguely at the strawberry print. Joshua had been with him when he’d picked it out- or rather, Joshua was the  _ reason  _ he’d picked it out. It’s hard to deny your kid when they’re that excited over a silly shirt.

Shit, Joshua. The panic that bubbles up in his chest, threatening to send him frothing with emotion for the second time today, blessedly subsides when his mind decides to remember that Darnold’s got him. His kid is safe- no need to go panicking like that a second time, Gordon. Still, he ought to call in tonight. Hopefully the team will at least have the good sense to stop at a hotel soon.

What time is it, anyway? Being in a car is  _ not  _ good for his already tenuous grasp on the concept- the hours blur together into a haze of trees and sky and tinny, blaring music from the radio that feels endless and like it’s over in a blink all at once. Time is fucking stupid, honestly. 

It has to have been a long time though, right? He’s got road trip fatigue, or whatever you might call it, and they set out at maybe… 9 o’clock or so. He checks his watch as he distantly hears Tommy lock the car with a beep, shielding the glass surface from the sun to reduce the glare as best he can.

The uncaring clock face tells him it’s 1:22 pm.

Yeah, time is fucking stupid.

That might make  _ some  _ sense, given the trees that surround them on this dirt path Tommy’s pulled onto are covered in fruit, and four hours  _ is  _ about how long it takes to get to the Okanogan valley- but fuck time, he just doesn’t agree with it. Doesn’t vibe with the concept. Four hours is still a long time to be cooped up in a car, okay? He’s not  _ technically  _ wrong. 

God, he’s tired.

Before his stupid brain can say anything else that barely makes sense, even to him, he glances up to see where they actually stopped. He’d been a little too focused on how good it felt to stretch his legs, he hadn’t actually… figured out why they were here.

The instant he looks up, it’s not hard to puzzle it out. There’s a fruit stand a few feet off from where the minivan is haphazardly parked- _ and Gordon still fucking hates this car with all his heart but that isn’t the point _ \- and the group is excitedly poking through the baskets of fresh, barely washed fruit. He shakes his head absently at the roughly painted banner hanging over the side of the… shit, what is that thing called again? The portable roof thing. He’s tempted to call it a tent, but that isn’t quite right either. Whatever it is, the banner is rustic and pinned to the side of the thing he can’t put a name to right now. It makes him smile halfheartedly, a familiar outpost of sorts when he feels more than a little out of control with the situation he’s been placed in all of a sudden.

...Shit. He should probably stop waxing poetic about a fruit stand and get over there before the group does something stupid, huh.

Gordon scurries over to the group as he shakes the last of that strange burst of nostalgia from his mind, craning his head up around Coomer’s left shoulder to get a better view of what the team is actually  _ looking _ at. His eyes catch on a woven, green plastic basket of cherries that Tommy seems to have his sights on. Whatever conversation is going on between his friends, he’s not really hearing it- which he should fix, maybe. Tune in a bit. Good idea.

Easier said than done, when he tries. He does start to register Bubby and Coomer having a near incomprehensible back and forth about… apricots? Weird choice in fruit, he thinks. Fresh apricots have an almost wooden aftertaste and the texture isn’t even that great- they’re not worth the price and there’s  _ definitely  _ better shit to buy at a fruit stand like this one. Like those cherries Tommy’s hovering over. Which he should just go buy for him already. Christ, he’s out of it today.

It only takes a moment to duck around to the side of the stall Tommy’s standing at. Standing next to the guy like he is now is always a little strange- he’s  _ ridiculously _ tall, really. Gordon’s not used to being shorter than people, but that’s not the point right now. Fuck, sidetracked again. Cherries, right? Yeah, cherries. That’s what he’s over here for, he reminds himself over and over as he fumbles his wallet from his pocket, flagging down the person tending to the stall and seemingly watching their group with mild confusion. He doesn’t blame them, really. None of their little group really know how to act like normal people- whether it’s because they’re ai that aren’t used to the real world in the case of the other four, or they just never managed to figure out how shit functions for everyone else, like in his.

He shakes his head, pulling out two ten dollar bills, the waxy purple strange beneath his fingers in the summer heat. “Hey, can we get, um-” He tilts his head up towards Tommy, one eyebrow raised. “-shit, how many baskets should we get?”

Tommy blinks, seemingly thrown off for a moment before his eyes brighten, clapping his hands together. It’s nice when he does that. “O-oh! Maybe, maybe three?”

Handing the money over with a smile, he flashes a small thumbs up to the cashier. Are they a cashier? What do you even call someone who does this for a living? “You heard the guy. Three baskets of cherries, please- oh shit, are those rainiers?” Gordon exclaims as he scrambles for his wallet again, handing over an extra five dollars. “Yeah, um- and one basket of the rainier ones. Please and thanks.”

Fuck. Hopefully he didn’t mess that up  _ too _ badly, despite the anxious voice in his brain that wants to pick apart every syllable of the mess that just came out of his mouth. He picks up the fruit he’d paid for as the cashier (again, he still doesn’t know what to call them) gives him a shallow nod and moves to put the money in a rusty old cash register. Nodding back as best he can, he slides two of the baskets into Tommy’s arms and slips away from the stall, balancing the cherries carefully in his arms as he tries to wave Bubby and Coomer back towards the car with him.

It works, surprisingly, Coomer trotting back towards the van with his husband begrudgingly in tow. It also makes him realize that there’s no Benrey to call back- he’s been a ways away from the stand this entire time.

The discomfort he’d seen on Benrey’s face earlier flashes in his mind again and he bites his lip, glancing down at the soft red to yellow gradient of the rainier cherries in his arms. No guilt right now, no thank you. He has  _ fruit _ , goddamnit, nice fresh fruit and he’s not going to squander that small pleasure by fretting about a guy he hates.

Because he hates Benrey. Through and through. So he’s not going to think about him. Yeah.

Tommy breaks the silence as he often does, (and yet again,  _ thank god for him _ ) coughing into his fist and holding out one of the baskets of cherries to the group, his head cocked to the side. “We- we should eat these! I mean, Mr. Freeman bought them for us and everything- and we’ve, um, been driving a while. Food is, uh, good! Right?”

With practically zero hesitation, Bubby snatches a handful of fruit from the outstretched container- so many that Gordon starts to worry that he might drop half of them. For once, though, his claws come in handy, latching onto the cherries and keeping them all in his hand as he offers his palm up to Coomer. If the juice running down his friend’s fingers makes him cringe, Gordon’s not inclined to show it. He just… can’t abide the feeling of juice on his hands. On his skin. It’s fucking  _ bad _ .

With his attention so firmly caught on cherry juice, of all things, he barely notices when Benrey walks up behind him, nosing his head over Gordon’s shoulder to jerk his chin questioningly at the basket of rainiers he’d bought.

“the fuck, uhhhhh, the fuck’s wrong with those ones?” He drones, seemingly oblivious to the way Gordon flinches and draws the fruit closer to his chest. “they’re, um, th’ wrong colour. cringe ass cherries, can’t even be red right. lmao.”

Gordon’s about to blow a goddamn fuse.

“They’re- these ones aren’t  _ supposed  _ to be red, dude. There’s nothing wrong with them?” As if to prove a point, he picks a cherry out of the pile, rolling it between his fingers. “They’re called rainier cherries, man. Have you never seen these before?”

Benrey blinks up at him slowly, almost like a cat, and he winces. Yeah- the whole ai thing. He kinda forgot.

“...’m from like. fake america, feetman. the good ol’ united states of code. dunno what the fuck those things are, wouldn’t know if i was human.” He shrugs as he speaks, dark eyes flickering down to the fruit nestled awkwardly in his arms, before glancing back up. “sooo... y’gonna let me have some or not? give benny-boy a lil’, uhh, snack? canadian treat please?”

Rolling his eyes, Gordon lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Fine, dude, sure. You can have a tr- cherry. You can have a cherry.” 

“hella.” Benrey’s hand shoots out almost instantly, grabbing ahold of a cherry by the stem and twirling it between his fingers as he draws it back towards him. Dude looks weirdly curious. It’s a strange expression to see on his face, uncharacteristic of someone who’s always seemed brazenly confident, even in his most off the wall and utterly baffling moments, and-

_ Is he eating the fucking cherry pit? _

Nevermind. He does not care about any of the shit he was just thinking, Benrey just bit through an entire cherry, pit and all, and  _ swallowed _ it. He’s pretty sure that’s some sort of felony. What in the actual fuck is wrong with this guy.

Gordon makes some sort of awful squeaking noise in the back of his throat as he recoils slightly, eyebrows furrowed. Whirling on his heel, a tidal wave of words building in the back of his throat, he readies himself for one of his patented Angry Rambles About Something That Doesn’t Really Matter- and stops dead in his tracks. How did Bubby even manage to get  _ that much _ juice on his face? It’s dripping down his chin. Jesus fuck.

His friends are all fruit criminals, apparently. And there’s Benrey too.

  
Too much of his thought process is occupied by imagining how horrible it would feel to be that covered in juice and wondering how Bubby’s even going to get it  _ off  _ for Gordon to care when Benrey blatantly snatches another handful of cherries out from under his nose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the gordon adhd is REAL this chapter huh
> 
> anyway!! uhh you may have noticed i updated the relationship tags on this fic? it's probably not going to come up for a good while, but yea frenreylatta time up in here i cant resist a good polycule and gordon/tommy has very quickly grown on me
> 
> im chaotic-solutions on tumblr as per the usual hehe come talk to me


	6. arson. lets discuss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gordon's tired. bubby's argumentative. tommy is about to blow a fuse.

  
  


It takes them all a while to load back into the car, but they manage it after their general routine of nonsense subsides. Gordon feels more than a little bad for the person running the fruit stand- but hey, he’s worked in retail. There are worse customers to deal with than a ragtag group of idiots who’re kind of over excited about cherries. Clambering into the car, though, he does cringe a little as the thought of someone witnessing his little spat with Benrey flashes through his mind.

Gordon sighs as he settles back into the very back seat for the second time, Coomer and Bubby’s general chatter he barely manages to understand on the best of days mingled with Benrey’s little nonsense additions ringing in his ears. It might be a little uncomfortable back here, sure, especially being as tall as he is, but he’s not about to let anyone be  _ behind  _ him if he can help it. Too risky. Being nervous on a road trip is a ticking time bomb anyway- adding to his stress for no real reason isn’t exactly on his bucket list. He’ll stay back here, thanks.

It’s not long after Tommy revs up the engine to get them going again with a loud, encouraging whoop from Coomer that he finds his eyes sliding shut, the adrenaline from earlier wearing off entirely and sending him into a mildly fitful sleep.

\---

It’s not hard to pinpoint what wakes him up, as much as he’d like to say that he drifts seamlessly back into the waking world. No, Tommy and Bubby are bickering about something- which is strange, to say the least. Tommy doesn’t really… argue. He’s not a pushover by any definition, he can stand his ground with the best of them and on occasion he’s stubborn to a fault- but he doesn’t fight. Not usually. Shit, something’s probably really wrong if he’s being confrontational like that. The thought sends a spike of nervous heat searing down through Gordon’s stomach, jolting him awake as he leans forward anxiously to tune in on the conversation from the front seat.

“Don’t be stupid, Tommy-  _ someone  _ had to be involved in burning all these trees down!” Bubby’s voice is the first one he catches, the words sending him spinning for a loop. He glances out the window, the familiar sight of scorched, barren trees sprawling for miles over the mountains meeting his eyes. Nothing new, nothing special. Just good old British Columbia. The province that’s always on fire.

“Th-that’s not how forest fires work! They’re natural occurrences-”

“Natural occurrences my  _ ass. _ ” Bubby snorts, rolling his eyes so hard Gordon can practically hear it from the back seat. “I’m telling you. Someone is a serial forest arsonist, and it’s unfair that that someone isn’t me.”   
  
“No one burns down a forest on  _ purpose! _ ” Tommy snaps, an edge of exasperation to his tone that’s only ever shown up once or twice before. “And- a-and you shouldn’t  _ want  _ to in the first place!”

“Eugh. Usually  _ Gordon’s _ the buzzkill. I expected better from you, Tommy.” Leaning back in his chair, Bubby wrinkles his nose as he folds his arms. “Really. You shouldn’t be such a stick in the mud about these things.”

Tommy sputters, his hands nearly flying off the wheel in frustration. He settles for gripping it tighter, so tightly that his tan knuckles turn a bone white shade as his voice trembles with the effort it takes not to yell. “No-  _ no _ , Mr. Bubby-”

“ _ Doctor _ Bubby.”

  
  
“Dr. Bubby, sorry- that’s not how any of this fucking works!”

Gordon stifles a laugh, his fist half shoved in his mouth to muffle the sound. Oh god- this really isn’t that funny, but Tommy doesn’t get worked up like this. He doesn’t blow a gasket the way so many of them are prone to when he gets stressed, and one of the rare times he  _ does  _ fly off the handle, it’s about… forest fires. And how they aren’t usually caused by arson.

Well, he’s  _ right _ \- it’s just an utterly fucking hilarious argument when you lay it out in simple terms.

There’s still a strange haze of sleepiness clouding his thoughts, but it’s utterly impossible to miss the tirade Tommy launches into, voice clear and angry and authoritative. Shit, he knows his stuff, huh? Gordon wouldn’t expect any different, come to think of it- he just hadn’t realized ecosystem balance was in his area of expertise.

“-and the underbrush  _ has _ to be burned out, or- or nothing grows right! F-forest fires help the habitats stay diverse instead of being, of being taken over by a single lucky species!” Gordon catches the tail end of the rant as he zones back in, tightening the elastic containing his mess of deep brown curls slightly. Tommy huffs, the sound of the radio filling the car for a brief moment as the argument lulls. And hey, if there’s a grin splitting his face from ear to ear, in sharp contrast to the dour expression he’d no doubt been wearing earlier in the day, who is he to think about it?

Bubby’s sudden response- acrid and sharp and probably entirely bullshit- falls on deaf ears as Gordon shifts his gaze slightly, and realizes that Benrey’s smiling too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS ONE IS KINDA SHORT I APOLOGIZE BUT give it up for chapter 6 babey!
> 
> also if you've never been to bc im not kidding about it always being on fire. there are so many dead trees out there theres gotta be a forest fire at least once a summer its ridiculous.
> 
> im still chaotic-solutions on tumblr come talk 2 me also all of your comments are like kisses to my brain thank you sm yall


	7. super 8 is another dimension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gordon's tired. benrey's a nuisance. tommy continues to be the best.

There’s a very specific feeling that comes with pulling up to a hotel late at night.

The world doesn’t flow quite like it’s supposed to- like everything is slowed and shifted an inch or two to the left of how things ought to be. Floaty, almost. Distinctly unreal. It’s a heavy sensation too, oddly enough- like there’s a pressure no one can see pushing down on you- molasses thick around your limbs and brain and coating your tongue and making you babble sounds and responses that make no sense even as you try to maneuver yourself and your luggage out of the car.

Or maybe that’s just Gordon. 

_ It doesn’t really matter _ , he thinks softly to himself- shit, can you think softly? Do thoughts have volume? It  _ feels  _ like a soft thought- maybe that’s all that matters. Or doesn’t, like he was thinking before. Wait. What?   
  
He shakes his head with a stuttering laugh that earns him a strange look from Bubby, finally grasping his suitcase tightly enough to set it down on the parking lot asphalt with a muted clatter. Everything feels muted- maybe it’s the exhaustion. Or maybe it’s his stupid distracted brain, gazing out aimlessly at the sea of strange storefronts and advertisements that pepper the town they’ve stopped in from top to bottom. Side to side. All the directions- there’s a lot to look at here.

Tourist towns are like that, his addled brain decides to let him remember, and Radium is no different. Although it  _ is  _ a little funny that a town named for the hot springs it’s supposed to get you to go to doesn’t have any actual hot springs in it. Who the fuck names these places? They should be fired.

Shit. What in the actual hell is going on in his brain right now? Gordon runs a hand through his hair, cringing when his fingers snag on a small knot in the curls. That’s what he gets for being so stressed out over this whole ordeal that he forgot to brush his hair this morning. It’s hardly a reasonable sort of comeuppance- and now he has twice as much shit to detangle tomorrow morning. Not.  _ Fair _ . 

It’s  _ also  _ not fair that he almost immediately takes a spill onto the hard ass ground beneath his feet, his legs deciding that they’d rather do anything but support his weight, thanks, the instant he tries to take a step towards the hotel doors. The red and yellow- mostly yellow- of the fluorescent sign that marks the building swims before his eyes as he falls, arms flailing kind of pathetically before he collides with something solid and warm and human shaped and  _ oh shit that’s Tommy _ .

(Tommy saving his ass is starting to become a little too routine. Not that he doesn’t appreciate it- he does, it’s  _ great _ knowing someone has your back, and there’s no one Gordon trusts more than him- but he can’t keep making his friend deal with this shit.)

Gordon laughs, the sound dazed and slightly fuzzy around the edges as he pushes himself back upright with a soft pat to Tommy’s chest and a hand tightly curled around the handle of his suitcase. “Shit, man- sorry about that. Must’ve tripped or something.”

That earns him a small, sleepy laugh as Tommy shoulders his duffel bag, eyes squeezing shut for a second. The lights of the town glint off his face strangely, his eyes almost seeming to glow in the dark, yellow and vivid as he opens them again. “N-no problem, Mr. Freeman.”

Nodding near deliriously, he takes a better hold on his bag, steeling himself for the harrowing twenty foot walk to the hotel. It’s  _ some  _ consolation to his exhausted brain that Bubby doesn’t seem to be holding up too well either, half draped over Coomer with a whining complaint about his back that he’s pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to hear. Oh well- who is he to judge? His own back isn’t exactly happy with him right now either.

Oh. Ow. Yeah, he’s gonna stop thinking about his back before he gets  _ more  _ aware of the strange tension that indicates that his muscles are gonna pull some bullshit on him tomorrow. Fuck that. Happy thoughts, Gordon. Hey, there’s the front door!

The front door, and also… Benrey. For some fucking reason. Gordon blinks in utter confusion, stilling in his tracks with a baffled expression a short distance from the automatic doors- not close enough to set them off, thankfully.  _ How did he even get over there so fast? _

“m’faaast, feetman. fuckin’, uh, speedrunner supreme over here. won th’ um. hotel race awards. six years running- champion benrey over here.” He pauses for a moment, smacking his lips as he twirls one of the strings of his hoodie around his finger. Gordon hadn’t even realized he’d been voicing his thoughts out loud. “y’lost the race, idiot. owe me, like, some more cherries or something. still got some of those? the good shit. the fail ones.”

...What?

It takes his buffering brain a second to catch on to the fact that there was a question wrapped up in all of that. His head hurts. God. 

“The- the rainiers? They’re back in the car, dude, can we just go inside?”

Benrey clicks his tongue, arms folded over his chest. “hmmmmm. nah.”

His eye twitches with familiar irritation. “Sorry?”

“said no, man. can’t go in ‘till you pay the uhhhh, entry fee. fruit fee. gotta hand over some cherries, friend.” His voice drawls, gaze flat and boring into him. Just like before. Falling back into his role.

Gordon supposes he’s slipping into his own a little bit. More than a little bit. Falling in step with Benrey the way he always seems to no matter how hard he fucking tries. “I don’t have time for your shit right now, dude. Just-  _ move _ .”

The little  _ click-pop  _ Benrey makes with his tongue stokes a fire in Gordon’s chest that he’d been hoping, maybe without reason, that he’d managed to stamp out. He doesn’t like being angry, no matter how much he yells- doesn’t like the crawling heat under his skin that makes his throat burn as his hands curl tightly into fists. 

“...don’t think so. you mad? gordon mad moments? madstuck?”

“Fucking- what is that even supposed to  _ mean? _ ” Pinching the bridge of his nose, he inhales sharply, eyebrows knit together as he shoots a glare down at the asshole who won’t just let him into the goddamn hotel. “It’s late and I’m  _ not  _ in the mood. Can you just- stop? For once?”

Benrey opens his mouth like he’s about to say something else, smarmy and detached- but all of a sudden his jaw snaps shut alarmingly fast and he nods, sheepish. “whatever, man. lame.”

Half disappearing into his hoodie, Gordon watches as the bane of his fucking existence slinks through the automatic doors away from him as quickly as he possibly can. The only thought his disaster of a brain seems to be able to conjure up in response is a small, befuddled  _ huh _ . Well, he’s not gonna look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe Benrey just decided to have an ounce of human decency for once. He’s not complaining.

Tommy’s hand at his shoulder a second later, nudging him towards the still open doors with a quiet, encouraging sound gives him a couple ideas as to what happened there, though. Predictable. At least Benrey can find it in him to listen to  _ someone _ .

(Yeah, he  _ really  _ can’t keep letting Tommy save his ass like this.)

“...Thanks, dude.” Gordon mumbles, smiling lopsidedly up at his friend with half lidded eyes. God, his brain function is shot. He’s still coming off alright, though, if the way Tommy returns the smile with a warm curve to his lips and ruffles his hair is any indication.

Fuck. The hotel. Okay, he should really get in there already.

\---

Checking in goes… well, about as well as you can hope for with hotel registration.

It’s utterly fucking bizarre trying to do something as basic as get ahold of a room key with a group like theirs. Nothing goes wrong, really, but Gordon’s so ready for one of them to pull something nonsensical that when they manage to get away from the counter with two rooms booked, keycards in hand, and no weird looks from the staff, it doesn’t feel quite real.

God, he hopes that didn’t jinx it.

On any other day, he’s almost certain Bubby would have instigated some sort of race up the stairs despite how goddamn late it is and how many people are almost  _ certainly  _ trying to sleep- but today isn’t any other day, and with a quick glance behind him, no one is gonna be pulling any of that shit right now. Bubby especially. He doubts a guy practically draped around his husband’s shoulders like an angry feather boa can do any real damage. 

He groans softly under his breath as he makes it into the elevator, leaning heavily against the wall and holding down the button to keep the doors open, letting everyone else trickle in before his arm drops from the panel. Fucking  _ hell-  _ a day of driving should not take that much out of him. He’s out of practice. Has to… build up a tolerance again. A tolerance for a whole lot of nothing after a non stop barrage of everything happening at once.

The elevator chimes as he snaps back to the waking world, just barely registering Tommy’s hand brushing against his shoulder in suggestion before he steps out of the elevator, Gordon trailing behind the rest of the group. Tommy and Coomer seem relatively alright, he thinks as he finds himself walking across the strange, always foreign texture of hotel hallway carpet. He hasn’t been paying attention to Benrey. Giving him the time of day has  _ always  _ been a bad idea. And Bubby… well. He sure is tired.

_ It’s lucky we managed to get rooms so close together _ is the only thought he can muster as they draw to a halt outside where they’re going to be staying for the night, Coomer fumbling with the key cards in the pocket of his jorts. He’s wearing fucking cutoff jorts. How hadn’t he noticed that before? 

There’s no time to linger on the… questionable fashion decisions of one of his dearest friends when both doors click open, Tommy brandishing the second keycard triumphantly while Coomer still wields the other. Bubby lets out a rare “thank you” to one of them- it’s anyone’s guess who- and bolts into the room on the left, not even bothering to flick on the lights. The distant  _ FWUMPH _ of a mattress from inside gives him enough idea as to what’s going on in there, even with no illumination.

Coomer laughs, and Gordon’s still looking at those  _ awful  _ shorts- did he cut them himself? Why are they so ragged? “Well, I suppose I ought to follow suit! Goodnight, gentlemen- don’t let the proverbial bedbugs bite!”

None of them manage a response before he turns on his heel and disappears into the still-dark room, shutting the door blessedly quietly behind him. Gordon’s not sure if he or anyone else could handle a door slam right now.

He sighs, rubbing his eyes awkwardly behind his glasses with a barely muffled yawn. God, he’s practically dead on his feet. If he had the energy to grab his phone, he’d check the time. As is, he just manages to get himself through the door of the second room, dragging his suitcase clumsily behind him. He fumbles off his shoes as Tommy ducks in, flicking on the lights and heading on towards the two, large beds backed up against one end of the room. Gordon shoves himself upright again, braced on his suitcase before he half trails after Tommy, taking a seat on the end of one of the beds. His vision is foggy with exhaustion for a moment, struggling to keep his eyes open.

Glancing towards the entranceway, his brain does some sort of double take, leaving him reeling despite the relative normalcy of it.

Standing a few feet away from the door is Benrey- of course, of  _ fucking course _ , the universe has some stupid grudge against him or something- of course Benrey’s here too. He’s flicking at the strings of his hoodie like he can’t decide whether or not he wants to take it off, rocking back and forth on his heels, and for once in his life he doesn’t look out of place. It makes sense, when he thinks about it- with only two rooms, where else was he gonna go?

Gordon’s stupidly awake now, damnit. Leave it to Benrey to ruin everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know when you get out of a car into a hotel and you're really mad at everything but not really and nothing feels real? yeah thats whats up with gordon this chapter. why dont you take a nap and maybe you'll stop unnecessarily blaming everything on benrey king
> 
> side note: its fucking WILD to me that this chapter is over 2000 words long but it was fun to write!!
> 
> im chaotic-solutions on tumblr as per the usual come talk to me :]


	8. oh god oh fuck sleeping arrangements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gordon still has no idea how to deal with benrey. everyone is so very tired.

Okay, technically speaking Benrey didn’t ruin anything.

But  _ fuck  _ if the guy being around again isn’t messing with his thought process big time.

Running a hand through his hair, Gordon glances around the room-  _ properly _ , this time. There’s… admittedly not much to take in. He’s sitting on one of the two large, barely furnished beds, across from which sits a beige, corduroy couch. Probably a fold out one. He thinks he remembers something about that from the people at the front desk. A minifridge sits off to the side, almost smack-dab next to the entranceway Benrey’s standing in, posture static and hunched. Weird.   
  
Maybe the thing about the couch folding out is just wishful thinking on his part. After all, it doesn’t really seem like there’d be  _ space  _ for a whole mattress to fold out of that thing- and this had been a sort of cheap room, as hotels go. 

But can you really blame him for hoping? There’s only so much space in a hotel room, and having three beds would have been real nice. Especially given that there’s an, uh,  _ extra variable _ he wasn’t exactly accounting for tonight.

Said extra variable pulls him from his thoughts with a cough, scuffing his socked foot against the shitty hotel carpet. He almost looks sheepish. It doesn’t feel right.

“so. uhhhhhh.” Benrey glances up from the floor he’d been staring at like it was the most interesting thing in the world, clearly trying not to start chewing on the hoodie string he’s rolling between his thumb and forefinger. “we, uh, how’re we. y’know. splittin’ the slumber slabs. dividing dream wormholes. beds n shit, bro.”

Gordon almost chokes on thin air. God, by now he should  _ know  _ what Benrey’s like and how to deal with his, well  _ interesting  _ vernacular- but his exhaustion from the day and utter fucking befuddlement about the fact that the guy is still  _ alive  _ seems to have shorted out whatever part of his brain is responsible for dealing with shitty gamer security guards that seem to have the sole intention of making his life as painful as possible and being completely incomprehensible in the process.

“Fucking- there’s two beds and a couch. One of us takes each. It’s not- it’s not hard.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, the fuzzy headed feeling that comes with being tired starting to seep back into the corners of his mind. God, his eyes hurt.

Benrey makes some sort of humming sounds, and oh, he’s just chewing on the string now. Good for him, Gordon supposes distantly. “yyyeah. i mean- obviously, bro. gordos sleepyman. lookin’ pretty, uh, tired there. better think faaast- like. russian roulette. bedlette. don’t leave it t’fate.”   
  
“That was- what?” He blinks, stunned into momentary, wide-eyed silence before he recovers with a sharp shake of his head, adjusting his glasses. “It’s not fucking- this is  _ nothing _ like russian roulette, dude, what the fuck are you talking about?”   
  
“mmuhh. waah. it was an expression, man, calm down.”

The whining tone of Benrey’s voice makes him groan, standing up sharply from the bed with no small amount of protest from his stupid body that just wants to lay down and sleep for months, pacing quickly over to the couch with an angry wave at the bed he’d just been sitting on. No one gets his blood boiling quite like Benrey. “I don’t care- god, just take the bed.”

  
  


That gets a strange reaction out of him, Benrey’s face shifting to something almost like concern as Gordon sits down heavily on the corduroy cushions, arms crossed. “hey, hey hey hey- what, noooo, bro. y’got- y’have cringe fail bones, right? wouldn’t stop bitchin’ about your back when we were in, uh, the before zone. black mesopotamia.”

Tommy nods, making a quiet noise of agreement. He’s been oddly silent this whole time, but his eyes are on Gordon in much the same way Benrey’s are. It’s… weird. 

“It’s a couch- why does that matter? We, we were sleeping on the goddamn  _ ground  _ in there. This is fine.” He laughs, half hearted and almost bitter. “Hell, what dad hasn’t slept on the couch once or twice. I’m fine here- you two can have the beds.”

With that little sentiment out of the way, (although a minute later he swears he hears Benrey mumble something along the lines of ‘stubborn asshole’) Gordon gets to… well, getting ready for bed. It feels stupid to put it that way- for fucks sake, he’s not a  _ child _ , someone should come up with a phrase that means the same thing but sounds a little less weird.

… Actually, it doesn’t even sound bad, what the hell is he on about? God, he needs to go to sleep.

He’s in the process of poking through his horribly overfull suitcase for something to use as a pillow when he’s hit square in the face by an  _ actual  _ one, flinching back and sprawling over the arm of the couch. Glasses askew, he sputters, grabbing ahold of the pillow and searching for the culprit.

Benrey’s shit eating grin and the slight waggle of his fingers he gives Gordon is more than enough evidence. Asshole.

“What the hell was that for?” He asks pointedly, propping the pillow up on the arm of the couch. Hey, he’s not gonna pass up an actual pillow when he was just planning on using a pile of t-shirts.

“you were, uhhhh, mumblin’ bout a pillow. m’just helpin’ a bro out.” He looks so goddamn smug- but Gordon can still see some of that worry in his eyes under all the snark, and it makes something strange flip in his stomach.

“I- no. Fuck you. Thanks for the pi-”   
  
He doesn’t even have time to finish his quip, immediately being pelted in the face and pinned to the couch by a blanket hurled at him from the bed further to his right. Tommy too? The universe is out to get him tonight. Or maybe just his friends.   
  
Well, Tommy’s his friend for sure. Benrey… he’s Benrey. Gordon knows where they stand.

Probably.

...You know what, he’s not going to think about that.

Crawling out from under the blanket, he sighs, fixing Tommy with a serious look that’s undercut somewhat by the fact that his glasses are crooked again. “Really, man?”

Tommy snorts, eyes sparkling as they crinkle at the edges with the visible energy it’s taking him not to laugh. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth, a hand half raised to his mouth as his shoulders shake before he bursts into a fit of giggles, clamping down over his mouth to muffle them as he bows his head, eyes squeezing shut for a moment.

It’s hard to be mad at him when he looks like that- despite himself, Gordon cracks a smile.

“What’s so funny?” He asks with a lopsided quirk to his lips, the question somewhat rhetorical as he tilts his head to the side. 

With another burst of laughter, this one higher and less stifled, Tommy waves his hands in Gordon’s general direction with a grin. “I- I’m sorry, Mr. Freeman- you, you just-” he cuts himself off with another peal of giggles, wiping his eyes before flapping his hands for a moment. “-You look- you kind of look like, like an angry kitten or something!”

Gordon rolls his eyes so hard it almost hurts, fixing his glasses somewhat redundantly given that he slips them off a second later, zipping them up in a case he promptly tosses in his bag. “Fuck you, dude.” He mutters, but he’s smiling- there’s no bite behind the words. “I’m going to bed.”   
  
“G’night, Mr. Freeman!” Tommy replies, waving a little as Gordon throws the blanket properly over himself, tucked in with his face towards the back of the couch.

“night, cringe boy.” Is all he gets from Benrey, but there’s a smile in his voice. Tommy can lighten anyone up, huh.

True to his word, he  _ does _ get himself to bed, drifting into a hazy state of semiconciousness for a minute or two before he slips away completely into a thankfully dreamless sleep. All things considered, the day could have gone a  _ lot  _ worse.

And hey, if he hears the soft, melodic hum of Benrey’s sweet voice-  _ distant and muffled by presumably the bathroom door, but still high pitched and lovelier than he’ll ever admit _ \- a moment before he drifts into unconsciousness, no one needs to know about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> benny caring moments..... even if he sucks at showing it
> 
> this fic is gonna turn out WAY longer than i expected apparently,, this is literally the end of the first in world day and it took 8 chapters to get here. holy shit this thing is gonna have a lot of chapters i hope i can keep things interesting
> 
> im still chaotic-solutions on tumblr thank u to the people whove been sending me nice messages i appreciate u all so much


	9. son? son boy?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gordon makes a phone call he really should have made earlier.

The next morning, Gordon quite literally rolls out of bed.

Onto the floor.

Facefirst.

Sounds about right given his luck, he thinks from the floor. Jesus, his nose hurts. Note to self- don’t fucking fall off the couch you’re sleeping on. Idiot.

He sits up with a groan, pinching the bridge of his nose and pointedly ignoring the hint of carpet burn on the side of his face. Thank fuck he hadn’t been wearing his glasses, at least. Could’ve broken them if he had been. Not being able to see is  _ not  _ on his agenda for this trip, thank you very much.

Getting himself upright proves to be more of a challenge than he anticipated. For one thing, his legs are half tangled in the blanket he’d been curled up under a few minutes prior, throwing off his balance and winding strangely around his calves as he tries to pull himself up to standing. Second, the way his back twinges with every movement makes him regret pretty much all the choices he’s made up until this point. 

It’s fine. It’s  _ fine _ . Maybe if he says that enough he’ll stop wanting to throw himself out the nearest window.

Letting out a long-suffering sigh, he fumbles for the case containing his glasses resting on top of the mess that is his suitcase. It doesn’t take long before his hand closes around the familiar texture of cheap-as-hell faux leather, squinting slightly with the case held up to his face in order to grab hold of the zipper. He’d like to say it’s too early for this- but given that the sun is up and glaring through the window almost mockingly, that’s not really true. Nevertheless, he gets the case open with less than dexterous fingers, sliding the frames onto his face and blinking rapidly as the room comes into focus. 

The sun doesn’t get any less obnoxiously bright when you can see clearly, apparently. Gordon wants a refund. 

Alright. Okay. He’s on his feet, he’s got his glasses on, and he’s… still wearing his clothes from yesterday. He blinks down at the slightly rumpled fabric of his button up, smoothing it down with a shake of his head and undoing the buttons before snagging a plain orange tank top from his bag. A pretty sort of sunset shade- despite everything, he still likes orange. Managed to hold on to that, apparently.

His open shirt hangs loosely from his frame as he shuffles off towards the bathroom near the door, stepping inside and sliding it off all the way. Blinking at himself in the mirror, he bites the inside of his cheek- there’s an acute feeling in the back of his head that he’s forgetting something, somehow. Might as well dispel that thought- he’s got sleepy brain fog, and on top of that, all he has to do this morning is get dressed and away from this hotel.

It takes a bit of fumbling with the loose fabric of the tank he’d grabbed to pull it over his head, the soft texture shifting pleasantly over his chest. It’s a comfortable thing, well worn and almost silky to the touch- no wonder he’d picked it out on instinct.

There’s still a nagging sensation in the back of his mind that he’s missing something as he stumbles from the bathroom, rubbing his eyes. It’s no small disruption, quickly shifting to the forefront of his mind and leaving him standing stock still in the middle of the hotel room, staring blankly out at a wall with his eyebrows furrowed so hard it’s almost strenuous. What the hell is he missing?

“...Mr. Freeman?” Tommy asks from the bed Gordon’s ended up next to, his expression concerned and more than a little sleepy. The guy must still be waking up- he feels a little bad for making him worry over nothing. “Is- is there, uh, something wrong?”

“Nah, man. Just feels li-”   
  
His eyes widen, immediately scrambling for his phone.

“ _ -JOSHUA _ .”

Halfway across the room, Gordon hears Benrey roll off his bed.

\---

It takes him more than a few tries to frantically dial in Darnold’s number, his eyes swimming over the keypad with the way his brain has yet to fully wake up. He gets there eventually, though- and he only called the wrong person once! Still mortifying, but it only happened once, and he’ll count his fucking blessings, thanks.

The call rings through fairly quickly, a staticky click of acceptance ringing loudly in his ears before the audio focuses in properly, and he lets out a sigh of relief.

“Dr. Freeman?” 

Darnold’s voice comes through the phone loud and clear, quickly followed by an excited whoop from a tiny voice he’d recognize anywhere- and something in his chest eases, letting go as he flops back down onto the couch with a stupid half smile.

“Yeah, it’s Gordon. How’s- how’s everything on the home front, buddy?”

“It’s- well, it’s good. Your kid’s very well behaved!” Gordon laughs, running a hand through his hair. 

“For now. Joshie can be a real terror sometimes- not, uh, usually though. You should be fine.” He pauses, biting the inside of his cheek with a soft grin. “Hey, d’you think you could put me on speaker? I’d like to talk to the little guy- sounds like he’s in a talky mood?”   
  
It’s phrased as a question, and Darnold answers accordingly. “He’s verbal right now, yes.  _ Very  _ verbal. Hang on, I’ll get speakerphone going riiight-” the audio quality shifts suddenly and he can hear distant, excited clapping, “-now.”

The phone rustles as Darnold presumably sets it down, Joshua’s bright voice now ringing clearly through the phone. He can’t help but grin, shifting on the cushions. “Hey, bud! What’s goin’ on?”

“Dad!” The microphone seems to peak at that, Gordon flinching away from the receiver with a laugh as Darnold distantly makes some sort of point about volume control. “Where are you? I wanna see!”   
  
“We aren’t on a video call, Joshie- next time I’ll show you, ‘kay?” He feels a little bad for not thinking of that in the first place. Oh well- hindsight is 20/20. And this  _ did  _ work out. “But, uh- I’m out in Radium right now! You remember Radium, kiddo?”   
  
“Yeah! The- the pool town!”   
  
Gordon nods sagely, quickly remembering Joshua can’t… see that. “Pool town, yeah. I don’t think we’re gonna go swimming this time- but I’ll send pictures if we do, that sound good?”

There’s a strange silence for a moment, sending a surge of anxiety through his stomach. Shit, what happened?   
  
Darnold’s voice breaks the silence, smooth and even. “Uh, Joshua- you have to say that out loud. Gordo- your dad can’t see you, remember?”

Oh thank god. At least it seems like he and his kid are on the same page.

“Oh yeah. I want pictures- please!”

He has to smile at that. “Yeah- gotcha. I see anything interesting, I send it to Darnold and he can show you, yeah?”

“Yeah!” Joshua claps his hands together again, the sound startlingly loud on the shaky connection. “I miss you, dad! Have fun!”

“What Joshua said, Dr. Freeman. I should, uh, probably make us some breakfast!” The phone rustles again, Darnold’s voice getting closer to the phone. “Joshie, say bye to your dad.”   
  
Gordon swears he can hear Joshua bouncing up and down. “Buh-bye, dad! Have fun in the pool city!”

He snorts, smiling so wide he swears his face might split. “You got it, buddy. Talk to you later, Joshie- you have fun too!”   
  
Darnold makes a soft noise of agreement, the end of it breaking up slightly. Goddamn hotel connection. “Goodbye- I’ll take good care of your son, I promise!”

“Yeah, dude. I know you will.” And he does. He might have been on edge about this at first, but now? Darnold’s a good guy, clever and responsible and  _ clearly  _ good with kids. Or maybe just with Joshie, but that’s all that really matters. His kid is in good hands. Maybe he  _ can  _ relax a little.

“Thank you! Talk to you later.” The audio from the other end rustles again, cutting off sharply- but not before he hears Darnold say “now, how about pancakes?”

Gordon smiles as he sets his phone down, adjusting the hair elastic he’d forgotten to take out with a comfortable feeling in his limbs. This might not have been such a terrible idea after all.

“y’done talking with mini-you yet? made me fall out of bed, dude, not fuckin’ cool. pretty- pretty unpog of you.” Benrey’s voice drifts up from the floor, obnoxious as ever, knocking some of the pleasant calm from his head. He hadn’t even bothered to get up? What the hell?

Well, he reassured himself, at least he hadn’t done anything stupid during the phone call. He had  _ that  _ much dignity, at least.

Sighing, Gordon adjusts his glasses with a pointed look at Benrey. Maybe he spoke too soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi hi! guess whos back w another chapter darnold responsible moments
> 
> i've been having a weird block with chapter 10 so i apologize if it takes a while to get out ;w;
> 
> anyway hope u liked this one im chaotic-solutions on tumblr


	10. just keep swimming (or giving gordon a heart attack that works too)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the team goes swimming. that might be a bad idea.

A knock at the door should not be nearly as jarring as it is.

The sudden sound isn’t unexpected- well, it  _ is  _ unexpected but more in the way that it startles Gordon badly enough that he yelps, his phone flying from his grasp and skittering across the floor. He’d been expecting Bubby and Coomer to come get them, but he can’t exactly control what surprises him.

He practically drops to his knees as he scrambles to grab his phone, face flushed slightly with embarrassment. God, he’s been jumpy lately- it’s stupid, if he’s being honest.  _ Get ahold of yourself, Freeman, _ his brain supplies.  _ The world isn’t out to get you. You’re not that important. _

The door creaks open as he whips his head back to look, pushing himself to his feet. Seems like Tommy beat him to it- and hell, maybe that’s for the best. His mind’s been more than a little fried this morning. He shakes his head like a wet dog, making a soft sound of discontentment. He half misses Darnold’s calm demeanor already.

It takes him entirely too long to look up at the sound of Coomer’s boisterous tone, distant but still clearly audible from the other side of the hotel room. Drifting off out of his head again, huh. Yet more shit he needs to cut out. Shuffling a foot or two to the right, he peers over to the doorway, expression flat and mildly confused.

… Are those swim trunks?

Gordon blinks, rubbing at his eyes almost cartoonishly in his now more than mild confusion. Why the fuck are Coomer and Bubby in swimwear? Did he miss something? What in the entire goddamn fuck?

It takes a moment, but after a second or two it dawns on him that he… doesn’t actually care. Mundanities in and of themselves have been strange for the past couple months- what’s a little bit of boring weirdness after everything?

Still- he doesn’t like being confused. Best to piece together what’s up before someone says something out of context that makes him blow a gasket.

He moves himself quickly towards the doorway, lurking just behind Tommy’s right shoulder and half hoping he won’t be noticed. Easier to decipher shit when you don’t also have to talk, right?

He gets about five seconds of cover before Bubby coughs in his general direction, a specific expression that somehow manages to look mildly concerned and intensely disdainful all at once. No one does complicated emotional responses quite like Bubby, he thinks wryly- and his gaze still stings as much as it always has.

Coomer picks up on it quickly, giving him an overexaggerated wave as he beams behind his mustache. “Ah! Hello, Gordon!”

Fuck. No avoiding this now. 

“Hey, Dr. Coomer.” He replies with a much less excited wave in response, ducking around to stand beside Tommy instead of slightly behind him. “You, uh… swim trunks, huh?”

“Fucking obviously,” Is Bubby’s response, quickly drowned out by a sharp nod and an exclamation of “Yes indeed!” from Coomer.

Oh god, he’s gonna have to prompt an exclamation, isn’t he. As if there wasn’t enough to deal with in this situation already. Scratch whatever he’d thought before, it is too goddamn early for this. Cut a guy some slack.

He clears his throat awkwardly, threading a hand through his hair. “Um… where you headed with those? I mean, there’s the hot springs, but-”   
  
Coomer cuts him off before he can even finish his sentence, perking up with recognition. “Ah- no, not those, though I  _ would  _ love to visit someday!” He laughs, bouncing briefly on his toes. The guy can’t stay still- Gordon can respect that. Hey, neither can he. “Bubby and I are heading to the Super 8 Pool- and I thought it was only fair to invite you boys! It has a  _ water slide! _ ”

Gordon could almost shudder at the memory of hotel pools- the water always a degree or two too cold, grimy floors, barely functional slides- yeah, that’s not a fragment of recollection he’s keen to relive.

“Sounds… fun.” He manages to reply, tone entirely unenthusiastic. He’s trying, okay?   
  
Tommy notices. Of course Tommy notices. Too clever for his own damn good sometimes. He blinks down at Gordon, an unasked question that he’s almost certain means  _ are you okay? _ just behind his eyes. 

He nods, almost imperceptibly. This… this is fine. Honest to god, he just doesn’t ever wanna set foot on the slimy poolside of a Super 8 ever again.

“Have, uh, a good time? I didn’t- I don’t have my swim gear on me. Kinda forgot about pools, and lakes and the ocean and shit, y’know?” Wow. Okay. Great sentence. At least it got the point across.

Coomer practically… pouts at that. Huh. He almost feels bad, but honestly, he’s just plain bewildered. “Wouldn’t you like to join us? There are deck chairs- it would be awfully rude not to spend our first morning on the road together, don’t you think?”

“Y-yeah, Mr. Freeman!” Tommy chimes in. “It sounds like it could be fun!”

He doesn’t even need to glance up to feel Bubby glaring daggers into him from the hallway. Okay- okay, he gets the message. Fuck. If looks could kill.

“...Y’know what? Yeah. Sure.” Shaking his head, he barks out a small laugh. “Just don’t expect me to swim, okay?”

Benrey yells something from behind him that he doesn’t even feel like trying to decipher. He’s pretty sure it was something along the lines of “lame”.

\---

It doesn’t take terribly long for them to get down to the pool, taking the elevator straight to the ground floor below that seems weirdly empty for a hotel. Then again, hotels always seem void of life when it feels like they shouldn’t. Maybe that’s not too out of the ordinary.

He barely spares a glance to the rest of his group as he makes a beeline down the hall marked with an arrow, following just behind Dr. Coomer. It’d be more jarring to be the only person wearing regular clothes if this was, you know, any other group of people. He’s usually the odd one out to begin with- though usually his being out of place doesn’t involve horrible novelty patterned swimwear. He doesn’t even want to know where Benrey found swim trunks with Nicolas Cage on them.

Okay, maybe he wants to know a little, but that’s beside the point.

There’s no room for that line of thought as Coomer throws open the door to the blessedly empty pool, grinning back at the rest of the group with a dramatic wave of his arm, practically bowing with a wink to Bubby in particular. “After you!”   
  
Gordon snickers. Benrey makes a retching sound.

“Thank you kindly, my dear.” Bubby replies with a lopsided, sharp toothed grin of his own as he sidesteps into the room, stretching his arms above his head. Coomer laughs, following quickly after his husband- seemingly forgetting that he’d been holding the door open.

_ Shit _ . He’d been holding the door open.

Darting forward with a yelp, Gordon grabs hold of the cool metal handle, yanking the door back on it’s hinges with a shock of adrenaline through his core. Jumpy. Yeah, he’s jumpy, alright.

Letting out a sharp breath of relief, he turns to the remaining two with a jerk of his thumb towards the pool. “You, uh- you guys gonna get in there?”

Tommy looks… amused, now that he’s got a good look at his face, one hand half covering his mouth. There’s a twinkle in his eye that Gordon can’t quite pin down, something that makes him feel a little warm in his chest. Funny.

“You’re, um, you’re really- very chivalrous, huh, Mr. Freeman?”   
  
Benrey looks like he wants to burst out laughing at that one. Gordon shoots him a glare that would probably quell anyone even slightly less persistent than him.

“I mean- hey, if the shoe fits?” He shrugs, smiling slightly with an edge of mischief. “Still doesn’t answer the question, though.”

“yeah, yeah. have a lil’ fun, dude. don’t gotta rush the ending so much.” Benrey quips, rolling his eyes as he skitters into the room before Gordon can even open his mouth to respond. At least he’s making use of the pool, if the distant splash he hears a second later is anything to go by.

Tommy giggles, and Gordon just can’t help but laugh along with him. What can he say? He’s not a particularly serious guy- especially not right now. Not when things are relatively good.   
  
“You headed in too?” He asks, cocking his head up at the other man. “Might as well join the group.”   
  
Letting out another stuttering laugh, Tommy brushes by him, patting him lightly on the shoulder with a grin. “O-of course! Where- where else would I go?”

Gordon blinks, ducking into the room himself as he releases his hold on the door without thinking, thankful it doesn’t slam shut. He can’t  _ stand  _ doors that do that. “You’ve got a point there, man!”

Indistinctly from under the water, he can almost hear Benrey burble something. It’s.. not quite words, though- and he’s quickly distracted by a loud, slightly worrisome splash from the other end of the pool. He jerks his head up from where he’d been watching Benrey float for a split second, wiping a few droplets of chlorinated water that had managed to hit him from his face. The distinct smell of pool hadn’t gotten any less strong since the last time he visited one.

Almost as soon as he realizes he’s gone and sidetracked himself  _ again _ , Dr. Coomer bursts to the surface with a wave of water in his wake, shaking his head vigorously with an expression of pure amusement on his face. 

“That went  _ swimmingly! _ ” The clear pun coupled with his self-satisfied tone would be enough to make Gordon groan if it weren’t for the undertone of worry at the size of that splash still lingering in his throat. 

“Nice jump, dear! I’ll even forgive you for that joke!” Gordon jerks his head up, staring up at the platform Bubby’s standing on, hands cupped around his mouth and horrible prescription goggles strapped over his face. At least he  _ hopes  _ they’re prescription. He’s seen how thick Bubby’s lenses are- apparently, even the perfect lifeform isn’t immune to astigmatism.

For a moment, he stands there, the room strangely quiet apart from the gentle humming of the hot tub nearby.

Then something clicks in his brain.

“Hang on- did you  _ jump off _ the water slide?”

Coomer turns his head to him with sparkling eyes, nodding energetically. Oh god. Gordon’s gonna die young, and it’ll be because his friends gave him a heart attack. “Of course, my friend! It was the most thrilling prospect here!”

Gordon inhales sharply- god, it's almost like he can  _ feel  _ his blood pressure ticking up. “I- Coomer, you know you’re supposed to, uh…  _ slide  _ down a water slide?” He laughs anxiously, still standing at the edge of the pool instead of sitting in one of the nearby plastic deck chairs. On second glance, those don’t look all that clean. “I mean- dude, this pool isn’t that deep! You could seriously hurt yourself jumping from that high!”

Coomer laughs, unfazed. “Oh, Gordon! I cannot be killed in a way that matters!”

He blinks, mouth hanging open slightly. What is he even supposed to stay to that?   
  


“Maybe- maybe don’t die, though? Please?” He fumbles over his words, eyebrows furrowed. Can… can they die properly now, or just respawn? Gordon hasn’t really considered that. He isn’t too keen on imagining the death of his friends.

“I- Yeah, please… please don’t!” Tommy exclaims from out of nowhere, breaking the surface of the pool with a sharp nod of his head. Oh thank god. Someone has his back on this.

From the platform up above, Bubby blows a raspberry, rolling his eyes so hard it has to hurt. 

“Spoilsports.” He grumbles, turning toward the slide before sprinting to the railing and vaulting himself down off of the edge, plummeting towards the pool in sync with Gordon’s heart dropping into his stomach.

What the fuck. What the  _ fuck. _

Whatever the hell Coomer starts to say is quickly drowned out by the second loud splash in as many minutes, only slightly less condensed than before. A spattering of water hits him square in the face this time, stumbling backwards as a few droplets slide down his glasses and more than a few quickly soak into his hair and clothes. He swears he can hear Benrey laughing at him from under the water as he sputters, frantically rubbing at his glasses and putting the fact that his face is quickly turning red into the back of his mind.

Through the bleariness of his glasses, he can still make out that Bubby’s gotten himself to the surface again. At least he’s not dead- count your blessings, right?

“Can- can you not do that again?” He manages to get out, sliding his glasses off to wipe them against the edge of his shirt in nervous, circular motions. “Like, great, you didn’t die  _ this  _ time, but you’re gonna get hurt! Or break something? I-I don’t think I can pay for a broken water slide, guys. Or a broken  _ you _ . I can’t afford a funeral!”

He might be rambling a little. Oh well- he’s probably earned himself an ounce or two of incoherency. It hasn’t even been long enough for his brain to wake up properly.

“No one is dying, Gordon!” Coomer exclaims, patting the deck floor next to his foot in lieu of his shoulder. When did he even get over here? “I’ll make sure of that!”   
  
“Defeating death is next on your agenda, huh?” He asks, semi sarcastically as the older man draws his arm back into the water, bobbing up and down in place.

“Most certainly!” Coomer grins before submerging himself, leaving Gordon reeling in place as Bubby cackles from a few feet away. He… wouldn’t even put that past the guy. Nothing could really keep him down- nothing even seemed to  _ phase  _ him half the time.

Hey, they killed what could pass for a god- why not overcome death? Fun activities for the whole family.

The should-be-dead “god” in question burbles passive aggressively from under the water like an angry five year old, yellow eyes glinting up at Gordon from the distortion of the ripples like he wants a cookie or something.

… Maybe killing Benrey is too low of a bar to compare to overcoming death, on second thought.

“What’cha you up to down there, man?” He asks half-heartedly, feeling a little guilty for being such a dick to someone he literally murdered, even if it  _ was  _ in his head and Benrey technically deserved it. “Is, uh… is the water nice?”

With another spurt of bubbles, Benrey breaks the surface, not even bothering to move his waterlogged hair from his face. “sure. if you’re into, uhhhh, spicy water. all chemically n’shit. tastes like, uh… clean.”   
  
“That… might be the chlorine, dude. You- wait, hang on, are you  _ drinking  _ it?”

“mmmyeah? obviously?” Benrey smacks his lips with an unbroken, dull stare that lights off every neuron in Gordon’s brain with pure befuddlement. “real delicacy shit right here. rare, uh, water flavour. limited edition. gotta get a good ol’ slurp.”   
  
He blinks, hands resting on his hips before he turns on his heel, pacing over to the shitty plastic chairs on the deck a short ways away- not even sparing a glance to Benrey, might he add. He’s already had his fill of weird shit from their weirder tagalong- and the day’s barely even begun.   
  


Sinking back into the chair, his back still complaining slightly with every movement, he sighs, pointedly ignoring the way Benrey whines at him from where he’d been standing a moment prior. At least the guy seems to have gained a shred of decency somewhere along the line, dipping under the water again and swimming off to go bother Tommy.

It’s kind of funny, playing lifeguard. Easy too. After the whole… slide debacle, no one really pulls anything all that concerning, and Gordon’s left sitting to the side in a chair that feels more comfortable by the second, leaning back and stretching languidly in the sunlight filtering in through the window, dappling the pool and deck with soft yellow-tinged light. It’s nice. Comfortably warm.

When Tommy shakes him gently awake from a nap that he hadn’t noticed he’d been taking, Gordon can’t even find it in himself to be annoyed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY THIS HAS BEEN TAKING A WHILE TO UPDATE LATELY i've also been trying to write some other stuff n this chapter is nearly 3k words and was weirdly hard to write for some reason?? anyway gordon stressed and caring moments, he's doing a little better after a good nights sleep and we love that for him
> 
> i'm chaotic-solutions on tumblr come bother me (also side note some of you have been sending me asks and id die for you thank u and goodnight <3)


	11. fuck physics all my homies hate physics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the science team finally gets back to driving. shenanigans ensue.

Thankfully, hauling luggage through a hotel is a whole lot easier when you aren’t about five seconds from blacking out on a too-clean carpet that smells vaguely like lavender and mothballs.

Frankly, Gordon feels like he lucked out a little with not being able to go swimming- he got to take a nap  _ and  _ his hair isn’t horribly waterlogged and stripped by chlorine? Score. He can see Coomer out of the corner of his eye, hair still damp and leaving small wet patches on the shoulders of his bright pink shirt that can’t be comfortable. It takes effort not to shudder at the prospect of clammy linen against his skin- that’s sensory hell if he’s ever seen it.

Clicking his tongue absently in the back of his throat, he waves his thanks quickly to the staff attending the front desk. They’re busy with new customers, a couple standing right up at the counter and chattering away to the woman running check-in, but he does get a small wave in return. Good enough for him. Customer service isn’t easy, a wave back is more than enough. 

Tommy gives a sharp click to a button on his keys a few feet away as Gordon steps somewhat clumsily out the door with his suitcase in tow, a distant honk sounding from the minivan a few rows of parking away from the door. It’s not nearly as long a walk between the car and the hotel as he remembers it being last night- either someone moved it closer, or his sense of distance is really shit when he’s exhausted. Probably the latter- he’s pretty sure this is the first time any of them have been out of the building today. He just can’t trust his brain on  _ anything _ , huh?

Behind him, he hears Bubby yelp. It’s quickly followed by a loud, snorting laugh from Coomer, so it’s probably fine.

The wheels of his bag roll over the pavement smoothly, rumbling up into his hand in a familiar sensation. Sunlight glints softly off his glasses, bright but thankfully not blinding. No one ever said he was immune to glare, though. He’s got his money on having a beam of sunlight amplified straight into his cornea at least once today.

Tommy pops the trunk almost as soon as he makes it to the van, jerking a thumb towards the now open space with a soft smile that Gordon easily returns, hoisting his suitcase into the back. It’s a bit of effort, but nothing he can’t handle as Tommy follows suit with his own bag. He brushes his hands together with a somewhat self satisfied expression, pointedly not asking when Bubby half limps over towards the group, grumbling as he goes.

“He tripped on the way out the door.” Coomer stage whispers to him anyway, eyes shining with amusement. “I keep telling him to watch where he steps!”

“I can  _ hear  _ you!” Bubby shouts as he shoves his bag into the trunk with more force than strictly necessary, his shock of white hair smoking at the tips. Gordon hides a snort of laughter behind his hand, the grin on his face growing wider as Bubby huffs and storms up to the front seat to reclaim his spot.

Gordon’s barely suppressed giggles are quickly replaced by a panicked squeak as Benrey’s luggage flies past his head at high velocity, landing among the rest of the bags with a dull  _ THUMP _ . He turns on his heel to face him, half expecting a wry joke or nonsensical ribbing about something or other, but all he gets is a shrug.

\---

It turns out conversations tend to be a little more fun when you aren’t completely stressed out of your mind.

If he’d still been twitchy, constantly on his guard, and more than a little sleep deprived, he’s near certain he wouldn’t be grinning at the antics in the van the way he is now. Maybe grimacing- but not happy. And he sure as hell wouldn’t be  _ participating _ .

“If fruit was sentient- stop laughing, Harold,” Bubby crows from the front seat, turned in a way that can’t be comfortable to glare back at Gordon with no real malice, “If fruit was sentient, of  _ course _ dragonfruit would win in a fight! It has  _ dragon  _ in the fucking  _ name _ !”

Gordon snorts, puffing himself up almost cartoonishly as he swallows a laugh. “That doesn’t mean  _ shit  _ and you know it- grapefruit wins, man! It’s fucking big, and bitter- that shit would pick a fight and come out on top! Dragonfruit is all mushy and flavourless- what the hell are you even trying to argue?”

“Thank you for your expert opinion, Dr. Freeman!” Coomer snarks, giggling behind his moustache. “So glad to see you applying such  _ rigorous  _ scientific reasoning!”

That draws a laugh out of Gordon, half choking on air as he doubles over just slightly in the very back seat. He wheezes, wiping at his eyes with a smile that threatens to split his face in two.

“Oh man- you know I don’t actually have a doctorate, right? I didn’t lie about  _ much _ back then but I kinda thought saying ‘oh, I’m not actually certified to do any of this shit’ might have been a bad idea- if you know what I mean.” He runs a hand back through his hair, leaning into the seat with another, softer laugh. “Jesus, man, I don’t have the dedication for a PhD. Or the money. Mostly the money, actually.”

It takes him a moment to register the abrupt dead silence in the car.

Sitting back up, he blinks out at the group, lips parted slightly in confusion. Bubby looks utterly gobsmacked, there’s an expression akin to being kicked in the shins on Coomers face, and Benrey lets out a small stream of sweet voice- bright yellow to a muddy shade of green, the first he’s actually seen from him all trip. And Tommy… well, Tommy looks unphased. And also like he’s driving. Which he is.

Gordon frowns, cocking an eyebrow with a slight tilt of his head. “...Did I say something?”

Coomer blinks, shaking his head. He smiles almost nervously, opening his mouth and raising a finger with clear intent to say something- that is, before Bubby ramps over him with baffled enthusiasm, claws digging into his seat. 

“What the fuck do you _MEAN_ you don’t have a PhD _?_ ”

He stares for a moment, scouring Bubby’s face for any hint of sarcasm, some kind of joke. The guy’s never been terribly hard to read- but the harder he looks, the more abundantly clear it becomes that this isn’t some kind of weird joke. It sends him reeling for a moment, shaking his head sharply to reorient his brain.

“I just- I’m not a doctor of anything? That’s all there is to it, man- I mean, you  _ had  _ to have noticed how clueless I was half the time.” He shrugs, chewing on his nails with no real thought. “I fucking suck at math. Physics is  _ not  _ my thing.”

Bubby splutters from where he’s sitting, increasingly distressed in a way that sends Gordon’s mind spinning off into confusion as Benrey stares blankly at him with a hum and Coomer clears his throat.

“Gordon- in our defense, you’ve never objected to the title of ‘Doctor’ before! And you did, at several points, make reference to a PhD in theoretical physics!” Where he’d almost looked hurt before, the expression on Coomer’s face now is a lot more akin to amusement. “I do hope there isn’t anything  _ else _ you’ve been lying about?”   
  
Benrey scoffs, chewing absently on one of his hoodie strings. “fuckin- loser. doesn’t even have a doctor degree. lame.”

He pauses, brain buffering for a split second. “Fuckin- do  _ you  _ have a doctorate, asshole? Last I checked, you’re a security guard, not a- a scholar.”

“you don’t know that. what, lil… lil cringe baby didn’t go to school, huh? no degrees or anythin’?”   
  
Gordon sighs, low and long and irritated, but not quite knocked from his earlier good mood. “I  _ have  _ a degree, man, it’s just not the one I said I did. The- the in-game protagonist is an MIT graduate, I had to play along.” He shrugs, scratching at his beard with slightly twitchy fingers. “I have a masters in engineering, okay? You happy?”

Bubby makes a noise he can’t decipher, nose scrunched up strangely, almost like he’s in pain.

From the driver's seat, Tommy coughs. “Did- did you guys n-not, um, know this already?”

“ _ Fuck _ no!” Bubby exclaims, quickly succeeded by a sharp nod from Coomer and a noncommittal noise from Benrey, seemingly placated by the knowledge of his actual field of study.

“I- I mean if it makes you feel any better, that’s… kind of all I lied about? I mean, I’m thirty-two, not twenty-seven, but everything else I said was true.” He laughs awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head. “I just didn’t wanna break the game by telling you shit that was contradictory to what you knew- well,  _ thought  _ you knew. About me. You get what I’m saying, right?”

Coomer nods, smiling behind his moustache. “No!”   
  
Gordon’s going to just… hope that’s sarcasm. It probably is, but tone can be hard to read sometimes- people can’t just say what they mean, and it drives him up the wall. 

Tommy clears his throat again, turning his head back to the seats behind him for a split second. “You… you guys could have just, uh, looked at the files? On Mr. Freeman’s computer? It w-wasn’t  _ hard _ .”

If there was any water in his mouth, Gordon would have done a spit take.

As is, he splutters, eyes wide as he leans forward in confusion. “Hang on, man- you looked through my _ files? _ ”

His back might be to Gordon right now, but he can almost see the confused slow blink Tommy gives at that. “...Yes? Your- your firewall sucks.”

“Fuck, gotta get that replaced, I guess.” He sighs, leaning back briefly before snapping right back into pure distress. “No-  _ no _ , hang on, why would you do that? That shit’s private, dude! How did you even get  _ out? _ ”

“I-I’m a glitch? I wasn’t supposed to be in the game at all.” Tommy turns back for a moment more, smiling apologetically before flipping his attention back to the wheel. “D-don’t worry! I didn’t actually look at much! Just- just the, uh, system information! And that folder on your desktop full of puppy gifs!”

Gordon kind of wants to dissolve into the car seat and never get up.

Benrey’s uproarious laughter- well, uproarious for him, it’s really just a louder than average cackle- doesn’t help matters, his face starting to burn slightly. “damnnnnn- shit idiot computer got hacked, huh? gordon freeman exposed moments.” He pauses, cocking an eyebrow with a slightly softer smile. “y’think you could, uh. share those gifs with me when we get home?”   
  
He blinks, reeling at the seemingly genuine request, the redness that had been creeping onto his cheeks almost entirely dissipating. “Uh… sure? Sure, man.”

Benrey nods, shark toothed grin the most pleasant Gordon’s seen it in maybe the entire time he’s known the guy. “Dope.”   
  
From the front seat Bubby makes some sort of gagging noise with a strange expression, retreating back into his previous position tucked against the window as he cranks the volume on the radio. Tommy’s got the station tuned to some frequency playing what sounds like sea shanties, and hey- he’s not complaining.

Even with the light sound of violin and chanting filling the van, though, Gordon just can’t seem to get the odd look that Bubby had been wearing out of his head.

He’d almost looked… guilty.

What the hell is that about?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its MY fanfic and **I** get to sprinkle in the bullshit headcanons >:3
> 
> also im bad at rhyming but benrey's sweet voice is yellow to chartreuse (i'm very confused)
> 
> im chaotic-solutions on tumblr come talk 2 me!!


	12. wtf... apologetic little bubby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bubbys got something to say. gordon is thoroughly out of the loop, as always.

Mid road trip pit stops never seem like a good idea until you realize just how badly you needed out of the fucking car.

Coomer manages to hassle him out of the back seat, even if it does take entirely too long for him to cave. He doesn’t know why he hadn’t hopped out sooner, limbs singing with relief as he stretches absently and stares out over the strange field they’ve pulled off the road into. At least Tommy had the good sense to find a little dirt path tucked into all the sprawling expanses of grain. They’ve made it to the prairies by now- and hey, he won’t complain, but Gordon’s not exactly jumping for joy. The view leaves… a lot to be desired.

He raises his arms above his head, half to stretch, but mostly to feel the soft breeze on his skin. Summer… summer can be nice sometimes. Today is good.

Bubby grabbing him harshly by the wrist all of a sudden and practically dragging him at least twenty feet from everyone else directly  _ into  _ the wheat the van is parked next to does put a bit of a damper on that, though.

Gordon hisses, wrenching his wrist as quickly as he can from Bubby’s iron grip when he recovers from the shock, thankful his skin doesn’t catch on those razor sharp claws. Maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration- but those fuckers are still  _ sharp _ , okay?

“Wh- Bubby, what the hell?” He spits, arms folded somewhat petulantly. “The fuck was that about, man?”

The only response Bubby gives to that is a roll of the eyes, barely visible behind the harsh glare on his glasses. He huffs, tapping his shoe on the grain he’s trampled underfoot with a distinctly strange energy. If Gordon isn’t seeing things, the guy almost looks… nervous?

The closer he looks, the more it comes into focus- and no, he’s not imagining shit. That’s Bubby, and he’s nervous. The way he bounces his leg, the upturned furrow of his brow, the way his claws dig into his arms when he crosses them with a slight glance to the ground that he must think Gordon doesn’t see- anxious tells, every one of them.

He feels almost dumbfounded. It’s rare that Bubby gets like this, his unwavering confidence, well… wavering for a moment. It makes that look of guilt that he’d been wearing earlier flash through Gordon’s mind again, leaving him more worried than confused.

“Hey- is everything alright? You look-”

Bubby cuts him off with a wave of his hand, making a noise in the back of his throat that shuts Gordon up right away. Alright, that’s fine- the guy just needs a minute. He can roll with that.

That doesn’t do anything to curb his anxiety, though, worry creeping into the back of his mind as he rocks back and forth on his heels just a little too fast to seem relaxed. He bites the inside of his cheek, doing his best not to stare. Bubby doesn’t need that- not when he already seems so on edge.

Bubby also apparently doesn’t need much more time, taking a deep breath that sets Gordon on high alert, snapping his eyes back to look down at him with mild concern. He barely manages that much before Bubby stiffens, finally managing to say something in a curt, rushed tone.

“...I’m sorry.”   
  
Gordon blinks, stilling in place with eyes nearly as wide as they can go.

“Huh?”

That earns him a huff, Bubby turning his face downwards in an uncharacteristically sheepish way. Then again, what part of this  _ isn’t  _ uncharacteristic? He’s still reeling from Bubby actually  _ apologizing _ for something- though he’s not actually sure what. He’s only ever gotten that once before, and he’s not exactly keen on thinking about his arm again, thanks. Moving past that is hard, but he’s getting there.

Bubby shakes him from his thoughts by coughing into his fist, eyebrows knit together almost like he’s in pain. The guy really is allergic to vulnerability. 

“I- I thought you were  _ qualified  _ to be doing the shit you were doing. But  _ apparently _ , you don’t even have a fucking PhD- so there’s no way in  _ hell  _ you understood that test, right?”

Gordon nods slowly, eyebrows raised. “Is this… supposed to be an apology? Because right now it just sounds like more insults.”

Bubby groans, dragging his hands so harshly down his face that Gordon’s almost afraid he’s going to scratch his glasses. “No! I mean- yes! I’m apologizing!”   
  
“Okay, okay- calm down, dude, don’t hurt yourself!” He pauses, tapping his foot against the ground for a moment. “Uh… what are you apologizing  _ for _ , exactly?”

“For… being an ass about the resonance cascade?” Bubby swallows, glancing down again. “I mean, I know I didn’t bring it up that much, but I  _ did  _ say that it was your fault. And, well- it wasn’t! That was going to happen no matter  _ how  _ you did it. Pushing the thing in slower wouldn’t have kept it from exploding fucking everything. I thought you knew I was joking.”

Gordon just… stands there. He’s not quite sure how to formulate a response, but his mouth does it for him.

“Yeah, I guess that was sort of a dick move, but- hang on, I  _ didn’t  _ fuck it up?”

Bubby splutters. “No! That’s exactly what I’m talking about!” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose before looking up at Gordon with a more sincere expression than he’s ever seen him wear. “Look- I know you, Gordon. You go and blame yourself for everything like some fucking martyr when none of it is ever your fault, and I thought you  _ knew  _ that test was doomed to fail! Now will you shut up and let me be  _ sorry? _ ”

Gordon can only stand there with his mouth half open, equal parts baffled and oddly thankful. All he manages is a soft sound, strangely speechless over something that shouldn’t really be that big of a deal.

Rolling his eyes, Bubby stares up at him. “Can’t you take an apology, Freeman? God.” He pauses, opening his arms hesitantly with an awkward scowl on his face, eyebrows still upturned with both embarrassment and regret. “Just- get down here, alright? We don’t have all day.”

Smiling softly, Gordon follows that instruction with no hesitation, carefully bending down just the slightest bit and slotting himself into Bubby’s arms with a small squeeze. It’s… strange, when Bubby hugs him back, arms wrapping around him like the guy doesn’t quite know what he’s doing- but it’s nice. It’s very nice. It’s been a long time since anyone held him like this.

“You going soft on me, man?” His stupid mouth says instead of anything useful, distracting from the point. It’s already been made- he can just let it lie.

“Not a fucking chance.” Bubby replies, and Gordon can almost hear the smile in his voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI IF THE ENDING OF LAST CHAPTER WAS A CLIFFHANGER IM SORRY 
> 
> no this is not a huge deal to the story. yes i just wanted to write bubby and gordon friendship moments. they are TRYING ok and bubbys getting better at actually communicating so we love that for him
> 
> as always im chaotic-solutions on tumblr come talk 2 me about funny half life men


	13. oh the folly of dipped cones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dairy queen, plus the science team, and all in the middle of the night? oh boy.

Driving for a long time tends to either make Gordon so antsy he’s practically squirming out of his seatbelt, or knock him completely out cold. This time around, the latter seems to have won out, his eyes drooping as street lamps that probably turned on at least an hour ago whizz past the windows, the lightshow almost making him groan. He doesn’t care if they are in Drumheller, he can be excited about that when his exhausted brain isn’t practically dribbling out his ear.

That is, until Benrey makes a sound akin to a squeal- except… monotone? He hadn’t realized that was physically possible.

Nonetheless, he startles, right leg kicking out on impulse as he shoots bolt upright in the back of the car with a gasp, chest heaving softly. He shoots a glare to Benrey as he grabs at his shirt, trying to calm his treacherous heartbeat.  _ Jackass. Some of us actually have to sleep, you know. _

Benrey doesn’t notice- or if he does, he doesn’t care. As usual. Instead he’s looking out the window with his face pressed to the glass like an overeager puppy, pointing out at something Gordon’s bleary eyes can’t quite make out, even if he squints.

“brooo, that’s a dairy queen! fuckin’, fuckin’ top notch ice cream from there. all... icey. and creamy.” He turns towards the front seat with pleading eyes directed up into the rear view mirror, hands clasped together in some exaggerated version of begging. “can- can we get some, tommy? tommy boy, pleeease? promise it won’t take long, slurp it up real quick, uh- drink those cups of cream. like a frosty or somethin’.”

Well. Now he’s awake.

Gordon shakes his head in sudden bewilderment, a loose strand of hair slapping him in the face as he does. “I- you can’t drink Blizzards?”

“uh. yeah you can. duh.” Benrey gives him a look like he’s lost his mind, eyebrows furrowed in almost as much confusion as Gordon’s own.

Before either of them can say anything more, Tommy gives a long suffering sigh from the front seat as he turns a sharp left, hands dextrous but tired on the wheel. “Yes, we can get ice cream. And I- you- you can drink a blizzard if you try hard enough.”   
  
Tommy’s tone is too final for Gordon to really bicker with as the van pulls into a parking lot, slowing down so quickly that Coomer jerks against his seatbelt. Benrey sticks his tongue out as they go, sneering at him in just that way that sets Gordon’s blood on edge.

He’s not sure if ice cream can make up for this.

\---

Ice cream can definitely make up for this.

Honestly, he decided that the instant they walked in the door. It’s hard to stay mad at anything when the whole room smells like sugar and a cool breeze.

He pops the candy red spoon he’d gotten with his order into his mouth as he slides into a booth for the team, a small smile spreading over his face at the bright taste of artificial black cherry coating his tongue. It’s followed by just a hint of chocolate, and it makes his dumb exhausted brain want to flap his hands wildly for whatever reason.

And hey, it’s the middle of the fucking night and no one’s here to judge him but the people who probably understand him the most. He can indulge a little.

Tommy doesn’t question the way he’s bouncing in place and shaking his hands as he takes his own seat next to Gordon, a slightly precarious ice cream cone dipped in chocolate balanced in his long fingers. Instead, he grins, shifting his elbows onto the table.

“Is- is it good?”   
  
Gordon laughs as his hands half still, eyes burning at the corners from how tired he is, but he honestly doesn’t care. “Yeah, man. Really good.”

“I haven’t been to Dairy Queen in years!” Coomer chimes in as he slips into the booth, overemphasizing the brand name the way he always seems to. It makes Gordon grin a little wider, grabbing another spoonful of ice cream and swallowing down the giggle that rises in his throat at nothing. Bubby follows suit, sliding a banana split with an ungodly amount of sauce across the table so fast it spins. It’s in a plastic clamshell container, and it looks  _ awful _ . It also looks like one of the tastiest things he’s ever perceived.

It’s probably the sleep deprivation. He doesn’t give a shit.

Beside him, he hears the distinct sound of snapping chocolate. It sounds… crunchy. Oh, he hates that.   
  
Gordon turns to Tommy with a wince, pointedly ignoring Benrey as he sits down in the spot next to Bubby and Coomer. Tommy seems equally uncomfortable- probably from both the noise and the way the ice cream inside the chocolate shell seems determined to drip down over his hand as fast as fucking possible. Oh god.

“It’s- it’s f- oh no-” Tommy stammers, his grip on the cone tightening as he leans in to try to control the mess, brushing a hand through the liquid dripping down the side and wincing immediately. Gordon grabs a napkin in sympathy, dabbing it over Tommy’s fingers but only succeeding in getting scraps of it stuck to the sugary substance. Fuck. 

“These things are a death trap.” He mutters with no small amount of amusement in his voice, glaring at the ice cream cone. The chocolate casing has hairline fractures  _ everywhere _ \- it’s just waiting to melt all over everything.

“evil ice cream cone, any percent speedrun.” Benrey mutters from across the table with a lopsided smile, and Gordon  _ must  _ be tired, because that gets a genuine laugh out of him.

“Ew.” Bubby chimes in, seemingly indifferent to Tommy’s plight as he and Coomer pick away at the split in front of them, a small chunk of banana resting atop Bubby’s fork as he gestures towards the cone. “And that’s why you never buy dipped cones. Better luck next time.”

Tommy makes a noise that was probably meant to be deadpan, but comes out more like a panicked squeak. Gordon feels nothing but sympathy for this man and his shitty fucking ice cream.

“not nice cream. mean cream.” Gordon nearly chokes on another spoonful of his blizzard, coughing weakly into his fist. Benrey’s actually funny tonight. The world is so fucked up, man.

  
“Mean cream.” Tommy bemoans, having finally managed to get his cone situation under control. It takes a truly unreasonable amount of effort for Gordon not to burst into stupid giggles at the genuine expression of sorrow on the other mans face as he takes another bite and gets his hand covered in quickly melting ice cream all over again. 

“Tommy- buddy, oh  _ god-  _ you really might wanna give up on that cone.” His voice wavers slightly with amusement, grabbing hold of another napkin. Just in case.

All he gets in response is possibly the saddest expression he’s ever seen on Tommy’s face, his hand wrapped tightly around the base of the thoroughly messy cone. He’d feel genuinely bad if it weren’t for that small twinkle in his eye that says  _ ‘I think this is funny too’ _ loud and clear.

Coomer chimes in a split second later with a deeply sympathetic noise, his nose crinkled up in discomfort. “Oh dear, Tommy! That is going to be hell on earth to clean up!”   
  


“Cheers to- to that, Dr. Coomer.” Tommy grumbles in response, practically pouting down at the small puddle of liquid ice cream underneath his hand. He inhales, sharply, taking another bite of the dessert with a look of pure contempt on his face.

“You know, these things always f- seem like a b-better idea than, than they are.” He mutters, gesturing with the nearly empty cone in his right hand. “They  _ look  _ cooler than a polar bear in winter but they- then they do this! And now there’s… flash freeze ch-chocolate all over my hands.That’s just great.” As if to prove a point, Tommy takes one more bite, the last of the dipped casing splintering apart under his teeth. He doesn’t even seem to care that his mouth is full when he sighs.

Gordon winces with a half smile, patting Tommy’s shoulder as gently as he can manage before just letting his hand rest there, eyebrows upturned. “You doing alright there?”

The utterly deadpan look Tommy shoots him nearly makes him break down into hysterics, snorting into his fist. 

“Yeah. I’m great.” The flawlessly flat delivery is somewhat ruined by the ice cream dripping from the corner of his mouth. Gordon’s about to lose it for fucking real.

“Fuck, dude- do you, do you want some of my blizzard?” He offers through choked laughter, tilting the half empty cup in Tommy’s direction. “As like- I don’t know, consolation or something. Do you need a napkin?”

The comedically hollow look on Tommy’s face vanishes when he laughs, waving his hands in front of his chest as he sets down what's left of his ice cream cone. “I’m all good, Mr. Freeman! On the, uh, napkin p-part.” He pauses for a minute, eyes darting down to the cup in Gordon’s hand. “But, um, I… might? Like some of that?”

Gordon nods, snagging another spoon out from the basket underneath the napkin holder at the back of the table. “Have as much as you want, honestly. I’m good.”

“y’want some of mine too?” Benrey asks right as Tommy seems like he’s about to say something, extending his cup halfway across the table with a startlingly earnest expression. “it’s chocolate, bro. can’t say no to chocolate.”   
  
Tommy almost seems flustered, stammering out something that would probably make more sense if Gordon was listening at all. But as is, he pops his spoon back into his mouth, half registering the fact that Coomer chimes in with some non-sequitur that startles a laugh out of Benrey for once.

It’s midnight, he has a brain freeze, Tommys sitting next to him gesticulating wildly about something or other as he steals a spoonful of cherry flavoured ice cream out of Gordon’s cup, and the world seems… pretty alright for the time being. He really is warming up to this whole road trip idea. 

Oh, who is he kidding. He’s happy to be here. Happier than he’s been in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LONG TIME NO CHAPTER HUH.......... im so sorry gamers i just got very distracted by a freelatta oneshot i posted recently but ill try to get back to updates on this fic!!
> 
> anyway sometimes you just gotta write the team havin a good time
> 
> im chaotic-solutions on tumblr as always!! you know the drill


	14. benrey and gordon in a room. oh fuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's still the middle of the night. benrey's got some apologizing to do.

So. Hotels. Gordon’s seen them. Gordon’s seen a lot of hotels in his time. 

This one’s nothing special- and really, he doesn’t care. It’s smaller than the one they stayed in last night, for sure- but this place isn’t a tourist town. It’s got attractions, sure, but no one really stays the night in Drumheller. You show up, you look at the dinosaurs, you get a sunburn, you leave. Except for their little group, apparently. He doesn’t mind.

Actually, the longer he looks, this feels more like a motel of sorts.That strange, squeaky clean, not quite real feeling doesn’t penetrate every part of this place the way it does other hotels. It’s not like it’s filthy or anything, and with how tired he is he wouldn’t care anyway- it just seems lived in. Not like it resets every day when the clock strikes twelve. It’s almost nice.

It’s a pleasant enough vibe that he doesn’t even notice the way Tommy ducks off into a room with Coomer and Bubby, leaving him alone with Benrey, until the door clicks shut behind them.

Well. Fuck.

Gordon takes a deep, deep breath, ignoring the way his head starts to whirl.

He’s not going to say anything. He’s  _ not _ . He doesn’t like Benrey, but he’s not going to be a jackass just because they have to stay together for one night. It’s  _ fine _ . It’s… fine. He can deal with this.

The quiet, fuzzy feeling of drowsiness that had been filling his head up with metaphorical cotton seems to be draining away as fast as it possibly can, leaving his sense on high alert, like he’s in danger or some shit. Which is stupid. Benrey’s no danger, not anymore- he’s just a weird guy that everyone but Gordon seems to have absolutely zero qualms with despite everything he pulled back in Black Mesa. It’s still  _ fine _ .

Honestly, he’s barely kidding himself. He’s stressed out of his mind- maybe more than he ought to be, considering how… weirdly decent Benrey’s been this entire time, but he can’t fucking  _ help  _ it, okay? He hasn’t been alone with him for very long… ever. Not on this trip, for sure. It makes his pulse spike and his throat tight even if he’s overreacting a bit. Just a little.

_ Okay. Calm the hell down, Freeman, you can just go to bed. You don’t have to talk to Benrey. _

“S-So… roommates for the night, huh?” His traitorous mouth says, talking to Benrey.

The guy in question blinks in surprise, hands hanging in front of his chest like raptor claws- like he doesn’t know what to do with them. Despite himself, Gordon gets it.

“uh- yeah. we... bunk beds. n’stuff.” 

He almost laughs at that, forcing himself to just snort awkwardly instead. What is it with him and actually thinking Benrey’s funny instead of just a pain in the ass lately? It has to be the lack of sleep. “No bunk beds- sorry to disappoint.”   
  
Benrey clicks his tongue, his earlier expression of shock fading back to that thousand yard stare. “damn. shit sucks.”

Gordon nods sagely, picking up his suitcase with an air of humour about him. Surprisingly. “Shit truly does suck.”

He doesn’t get a response until he’s already managed to maneuver himself into the room, setting his things down next to the bed furthest from the door as Benrey murmurs something about talking to a manager about the lack of bunk beds. Rolling his eyes, he pays it no mind- but he’s still smiling. Wild.

Benrey seems content to stay quiet when their conversation drops, dragging his own duffel towards the remaining bed with downturned eyes and a beanie that looks about ready to fall off his wild mop of hair. He doesn’t look too out of sorts about things either- though he’s always been kind of hard to read. At least compared to the rest of the team, given the way most of them seem to wear their feelings on their sleeve like a badge of honour. It’s not like he isn’t expressive- he can be plenty open when he feels like it- but there’s probably a reason the guy has a weird alien superpower that lets him convert his emotions into colourful balls.

Shit- why is he even looking at Benrey? He’s supposed to be ignoring him. Letting this all blow over. What the fuck.

Gordon snaps his gaze away as quick as he can in a way that definitely isn’t conspicuous at all. Nope. Very discreet. For sure.

Shifting his line of sight, it lands on the obvious lack of a couch on the other side of their room. It’s a comparatively smaller space, certainly, so he’s not  _ surprised-  _ but it does make him grateful in the strangest sort of way that they aren’t trying to get three people in here this time. It… might be a little taxing for him to try to sleep on the floor.

He could always sleep in the same bed as someone else, but that’s a thought he doesn’t really feel up to entertaining right now, thank you very much.

Of course, his brain  _ immediately  _ starts to entertain that thought, and he blurts something out to try to shut it down.

“Um- so. Where have you… been? Since the whole-” He waves his hand in a general motion as if to say ‘fucked up’, “ _ -thing _ happened? I didn’t even know you were alive, man.”

...Maybe that was a shitty way to phrase it.

Benrey doesn’t seem phased, though. He never seems phased. His eyes flick up from his strangely light duffel bag, meeting Gordon’s with bored intensity. Or is he just tired? God, he ought to get better at telling feelings apart.

“can’t kill code, bro. barely felt it.” He shrugs, hopping onto the mattress and bouncing slightly on the springy surface. “just moved in with tommy after i got out of your lame ass computer. he offered.”

Huh. That makes sense. He tries not to wince too hard at the ‘barely felt it’ part- if Benrey felt what happened at the end even a little bit, it must have hurt like hell.

“...Yeah. Bet it’s nice, living with him.” Gordon falters just slightly at the thought of Tommy, kicking his suitcase to the side and trying his utmost not to hiss in pain when he stubs his toe, vomiting out more words to fill the void instead.

“U-uh. Sorry for… killing you? I guess? Even though you’re not dead.” He coughs into his fist, eyes averted. “That must have sucked.”

An awkward silence falls over the two of them, his shaky voice lingering in the air like wood smoke. Actually, that might be too poetic. Too pretty. Car exhaust? Yeah, that’s more like it. Propane fumes. Something cloying and uncomfortable, weighing down his tongue as he waits for a response.

“...bro.” Benrey starts, the sudden sound making him flinch slightly. “don’t apologize- what the fuck?”

What.

“What?”   
  


Benrey makes a vague gesture, a wave of the hand that seems both flippant and uncharacteristically weighted for him. “i mean- dying was a major fail, yeah- bein’ dead sucks.” He shrugs, eyes fixed on Gordon in a way that makes his throat close up. “but like. y’had to do that, dude. i was bein’ fuckin’... not cool anyway. no hard feelings.”

Gordon blinks, mouth just slightly ajar. There’s- well, there’s a lot going through his head right now. A lot that barely makes sense at the speed his thoughts are racing. He sputters, struggling to regain his bearings as Benrey just keeps  _ looking  _ at him, yellow eyes piercing and keeping him stuck like a butterfly on a board.

“I- what the hell?” Gordon manages to spit out, waving his hands ineffectually at nothing.    
  
Benrey blinks, slowly- like a cat or some shit, a look of genuine confusion spreading over his face. “huh?” 

“Fucking- that’s  _ it? _ ” There’s no venom in his tone, just pure, unbridled bewilderment. “You’re- you’re not mad that I killed you? No demands for an apology? What the  _ fuck,  _ Benrey?”   
  


“whuh- d’you want me to be mad at you or something?” Benrey looks just as baffled as Gordon feels if not more, hands fisted in the blanket underneath him. “you didn’t do anything  _ wrong,  _ bro- gotta kill the big bad. gotta finish the game. i knew it was coming.”   
  
He pauses, eyes slipping from where they’d been fixed on Gordon for a good minute, something resembling guilt passing over his features for a split second.

“...’sides. i was real mean to you back there. got you hurt. a lot.” Benrey glances back up, that fog of strange aloofness seeming to dissipate, leaving only genuine, open regret. “not fuckin’ okay of me t’pull that shit on you. i’m, uh… sorry. big sorry.”

Well. Shit.

Another one of Gordon’s knee-jerk confusion-induced yelling fits bubbles up in his throat, eyebrows furrowed as he bites his lip and swallows it as he just… looks. At Benrey, specifically. At the way he really  _ doesn’t  _ seem mad- seems weirded out that Gordon  _ expected  _ him to be mad. He barely even looks upset about dying, just openly and honestly apologetic about all the shit he pulled back in Black Mesa. Which, well… Gordon should be  _ happy  _ about that, right? He should feel all triumphant, like he’s getting what he’s always wanted- but the more he looks at it, the more he just feels… tired. Not bad tired, not exasperated the way he so often is- just calm and tired, like something’s finally been laid to rest.

It hits him all of a sudden that throughout all of this, he hasn’t really been _mad_ at Benrey. Barely has been this entire time, actually, despite the anxiety he still carries in his chest around the guy. 

Is he holding a grudge for nothing? Hanging onto shit that he doesn’t think about most of the time that Benrey clearly regrets and might even be trying to make up for? Maybe, but he can’t just… ignore everything that happened between them. It’s a hard point to continue from, when you’ve both hurt each other and been hurt in kind.

Gordon stammers, emotions desperately awhirl in his chest. 

  
“I-I… thanks, Benrey.” He pauses, managing a small, honest smile. “That means a lot, coming from you.”   
  
Benrey’s face lights up almost instantly, even if his expression stays calm, sorrow in his eyes. “no problem, bro. got, uh… got a lot to make up for.”

And yeah, he  _ does,  _ but Gordon snorts, pulling a pillow into his lap as he visibly relaxes with the shift in tone. He’s never been good with situations like this. “I think we all do.”   
  
“get on my level.” Benrey quips with a tired half grin, and yeah, that’s more like it. Back how it usually is, their dynamic falling into place like an old puzzle you’ve practically memorized by now. Except… nicer. Warmer. Less fraught with tension and horrible little knots of feeling in Gordon’s chest that he never seems to be able to unwind. The same as before, but not. But different. Better.

Despite himself, Gordon gives a laugh, collapsing back onto the bed with a huff. “Fuck, dude.”

The bed underneath Benrey squeaks even as Gordon can’t see him, staring at the motel ceiling. “fuck. yeah. wise words.”

“Wise  _ word.  _ Singular.”   
  
Benrey snorts, shuffling around slightly. “smartass.” 

“You know it.” Gordon snipes back, humor in his voice. This… is nice. This is easy.

A silence falls over the room and over the two of them- and sure, it feels a little weird. Who wouldn’t feel strange sitting in the quiet next to someone who tried to kill you and who you actually killed? But it’s… not a bad weird, now that he thinks about it. It doesn’t feel cloying or heavy or like it’s pressing down on him from all sides the way silence sometimes does- it’s just… new. And unfamiliar. Like a wall he hasn’t learned how to scale just yet, but maybe he could someday.

Benrey coughs into his fist a second later and Gordon rolls over to look at him, attention thoroughly grabbed with a quiet, inquisitive hum.

“...hey.”

“Hey.”

That seems to give Benrey pause, a nervous air about him as he winds and unwinds his clawed fingers together. Shit, is he anxious about something?   
  
“i... uh. m’not good at this- fuck.” Benrey’s voice is small, eyes pointedly averted as he worries at his bottom lip with those sharp, sharp teeth. “hang on, just- gimme a second. gotta say this right.”   
  
Gordon nods, eyebrows furrowed with his head on the pillow as he holds his tongue.

In front of him, Benrey takes a deep breath, hands clasped together in his lap as he finally manages to look at Gordon, fixing him with a gaze that could probably melt steel beams with it’s intensity. God, he’s serious about this, huh?   
  
“do... do you think we could start over?” He asks, tone soft and nervous. Like he’s really asking for once, not just dragging Gordon along in his decisions and expecting him to keep up. “y’know. like people. no more hero and villain, uh, enemies to friends shit. just... try again. fresh save file and get to know each other right this time.”

Gordon blinks.

And again.

And then he finds himself laughing, a soft chuckle rising to a crescendo as he curls in on himself, tears brimming in his eyes with just how  _ weird  _ all this is. And yeah, maybe with a bit of emotion. A lot of emotion, actually. Benrey of all people just managed to hit him in the heartstrings. God, what has his life become?   
  
He cracks one eye open, and Benrey almost looks crushed- and well, fuck, there’s a wave of concern crashing over him. He can’t help it.

Sitting bolt upright, Gordon waves his hands in front of his chest, sputtering out apologetics. “I- shit, no- I’m not laughing at you! I promise!” He smiles awkwardly, patting the comforter underneath him with nervous energy. “It’s just been a weird few days, man.”   
  


Benrey nods, the expression of distress fading as he keeps looking at Gordon, expectant. Oh. Yeah, he really ought to answer that. Stupid brain, making him forget shit.

“And- I- yeah. I think we can. Start over, I mean.” He manages a more genuine smile, lifting a hand to pat Benrey on the shoulder before he realizes the distance between their beds is too wide for that. “I… I can’t forget what happened, but- shit, man, I don’t think I’ve ever really hated  _ you.  _ I just… god, I really hated what you were doing.” Gordon pauses, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re not a bad guy, Benrey. Just… don’t do that shit again, okay?”   
  
Benrey practically beams, nodding so hard Gordon’s almost afraid his head might fall off. “yeah- got it! wasn’t gonna try anythin’ anyway.” He shifts in place, opening his arms up seemingly on impulse before a sheepish expression falls over his face. “uh... hug?”

Gordon barks out a laugh, shaking his head slightly as he rises to his feet. “You know what, man? Sure.”   
  
Benrey blinks up at him as he moves in for an embrace, wide eyed. “oh. dope.”

And before he really has the chance to think about it, there he is with Benrey in his arms. He’s half bent over, hugging him from a standing position when Benrey’s perched on the edge of his bed, so it’s more than a little awkward- but it’s… nice. In front of him, Benrey stalls, arms frozen in midair like he doesn’t know what to do with them before he gets a handle on the situation and hugs Gordon back even tighter in turn. If the contact makes something turn warm and gooey in his chest, leaning into it more than he meant to, he’s  _ not  _ going to think about that.

It doesn’t last long- Gordon finds himself pulling away after maybe thirty seconds with an awkward chuckle, sitting back down on his own bed with enough force that the mattress bounces under him slightly. “Y’know what’s funny?”

Benrey, for his part, looks absolutely starstruck. “what?” 

Gordon runs a hand through his hair, staring down at his lap for a split second. “I kinda thought you’d be cold. Like- ectothermic or some shit. Cold blooded. But you’re not!” He chuckles to himself, looking up at Benrey as his eyes crinkle around the edges. “I don’t know why that’s funny. I guess I just assumed with all the… blue, and the alien stuff. It’s kinda stupid.”

Benrey just… looks at him, for a moment, almost entirely deadpan- before he bursts out laughing, a grin on his lips that almost looks like it could split his face in two. It’s the widest Gordon’s ever seen him smile. “you- y’thought i was like… a lizard? huh? benny boy’s not human so he- he can’t produce his own body heat?”

The humour in his tone is infectious, and Gordon can’t help the cackle that he doubles over with. “I know, right? Like what the fuck is that logic on- on my part? I’ve never touched you!”

Benrey snorts, laughter growing louder. “y’have now!”

“God- I sure have, huh?” He wipes at his eyes, still grinning nonsensically from ear to ear. “You’re not bad at hugs, by the way. That was, um- kinda nice.”

Benrey’s laughter fades to just a smile, but a big smile nonetheless. One with teeth that might have terrified him a few months ago, but just makes him feel almost happy now. It’s neat to see the guy being expressive- that constant, bored expression can grate on his nerves in more ways than one sometimes.

“uh- yeah. pro hugger over here. i know, uh,  _ all  _ the strats.”

Gordon makes a noise in the back of his throat, rolling his eyes with amusement in his tone. “Shut up, man.”

A hush falls over the two of them, the conversation seeming to have hit an end of sorts- and really, Gordon doesn’t mind. He’s still  _ really  _ fucking tired, after all. Ice cream and the absolute shock to his system that is Benrey apologizing for all the shit he pulled hasn’t changed that. His head feels full of cotton, floaty and exhausted and surprisingly warm.

He’s fiddling with the hem of his shirt, well worn fabric soft under his hands as he shifts to start tucking himself into bed, when Benrey makes a noise.

Jerking his head up, Gordon raises an eyebrow with half lidded eyes, propped up on the strangely soft motel bed pillows. He looks… almost nervous again. Huh.

“Uh… something up?” He asks, left hand resting on the side of his glasses. Shit, he should take those off soon.

Benrey shakes his head on instinct before he cuts himself short, instead nodding with a near sheepish expression on his face. “yeah. yeah, big ol’ question for ya.”

Gordon blinks, waving a hand towards him somewhat apprehensively. “...Go ahead?”   
  
“are we cool? for real?” Benrey blurts out, leaning forward slightly. “just wanna check, cause, like- i know all this shit doesn’t just go away. i get it, bro, i fucked up  _ big  _ time n’you didn’t deserve it but, uh… put that behind us? for real, maybe? if... if y’think you could?”

It takes a moment for Benrey words to catch up with his brain, mind processing that statement about as fast as an old laptop with thirteen tabs open- but it hits him, eventually, and he can’t help the soft, tired smile that spreads over his lips.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BANGS MY HEAD INTO A WALL THIS CHAPTER IS FINALLY DONE
> 
> anyway hey gamers,, its been a bit since i updated this! i had a hard time with this chapter benrey is not easy for me to write. ALSO in my humble onion i think gordon and benrey have a lot more to work through than what i'm touching on here but frankly this just,, isn't the fic where i want to explore that? so i hope u enjoyed developing frenrey moments i am VERY bad at them
> 
> im chaotic-solutions on tumblr! send a plague of locusts upon my home


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